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. LETTERS  AND 
MEMORIES  OF 

CHARLES  KINGSLEY 


CHESTER  EDITION 


CHARLES  KINGSLEY 


His  Letters , and  Memories  oj 
His  Life 

EDITED  BY  HIS  WIFE 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION 

BY 

MAURICE  KINGSLEY 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES 
Volume  I 


NEW  YORK 

J.  F.  TAYLOR  AND  COMPANY 

MDCCCC 


Copyright , 1899, 

By  J.  F.  Taylor  and  Company. 


^nibcrsttg  Press : 

John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


DrtftcateU 

TO  THE  BELOVED  MEMORY 

OF 

- A RIGHTEOUS  MAN 

WHO  LOVED  GOD  AND  TRUTH  ABOVE  ALL  THINGS. 

A MAN  OF  UNTARNISHED  HONOR  — 

LOYAL  AND  CHIVALROUS  — GENTLE  AND  STRONG  — 

MODEST  AND  HUMBLE  — TENDER  AND  TRUE  — 

PITIFUL  TO  THE  WEAK  — YEARNING  AFTER  THE  ERRING  — 
STERN  TO  ALL  FORMS  OF  WRONG  AND  OPPRESSION, 

YET  MOST  STERN  TOWARDS  HIMSELF  — 

WHO  BEING  ANGRY,  YET  SINNED  NOT. 

WHOSE  HIGHEST  VIRTUES  WERE  KNOWN  ONLY 

TO  HIS  WIFE,  HIS  CHILDREN,  HIS  SERVANTS,  AND  THE  POOR. 

WHO  LIVED  IN  THE  PRESENCE  OF  GOD  HERE, 

AND  PASSING  THROUGH  THE  GRAVE  AND  GATE  OF  DEATH 
NOW  LIVETH  UNTO  GOD  FOR  EVERMORE. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/charleskingsleyh01king_0 


CONTENTS 


VOLUME  I 


CHAPTER  I 

I819-I838 

Page 

Birth  and  Parentage  — Inherited  Tastes  — Removal  from 
Devonshire  — Clifton  — Barnack  and  its  Ghost-Chamber 
— First  Sermon  and  Poems  — Childish  Character  — 
Effect  of  Fen  Scenery  on  his  Mind  f-  Life  at  Cloveily  — 
School  Life  at  Clifton  and  Helston  — Chelsea  — King’s 
College,  London I 


CHAPTER  II 

1838-1842.  Aged  19-23 

Cambridge  — Visit  to  Oxfordshire — A Turning  Point  in 
Life  — Undergraduate  Days  — Decides  to  take  Orders 
— Correspondence  — Takes  his  Degree  ...  25 

CHAPTER  III 

1842-1843.  Aged  23-24 

Leaves  Cambridge  — Reads  for  Holy  Orders  — Extracts 
from  Letters  — Ordained  Deacon  — Curacy  of  Eversley 
— Parish  Work — Parting  Words 45 


CHAPTER  IV 

1842-1843.  Aged  23-24 

A Year  of  Sorrow  — Curate  Life  — Letter  from  Colonel  W. 

— Brighter  Prospects  — Promise  of  Preferment  — Cor- 
respondence Renewed  — The  Mystery  of  Life  — Impulse 
— Enthusiasm  — The  Pendulum  — Wandering  Min- 
strels— Leaves  Eversley 72 


Vlll 


Contents 


CHAPTER  V 

1844-1847.  Aged  25-28 

Marriage  — Curacy  of  Pimperne  — Rector  of  Eversley — 
Parish  Work — Personal  Influence  — Canonry  of  Mid- 
dleham — Needs  of  the  Church  — Birth  of  Two  Chil- 
dren— The  “Saint's  Tragedy"  Written  . ~ T~  . 


CHAPTER  VI 

1848.  Aged  29 

Publication  of  “ Saint's  Tragedy  ” — Chartist  Riots  — - Tenth 
of  April  — Work  in  London  — Politics  for  the  People  — 
Parson  Lot  — Professorship  at  Queen's  College  Croy- 
land  Abbey  — Letters  to  his  Child  — Advice  to  an 
Author  — “ Y east  *'  — Illness  — The  Higher  View  of 
Marriage  — Devonshire 


CHAPTER  VII 

1849.  Aged  30 

Winter  in  Devonshire  — Illness  — Decides  on  Taking  Pupils 
— Correspondence,  — On  Romanism.  — Visit  to  London 
— Social  Questions  — Fever  at  Eversley  — Renewed 
Illness  — Returns  to  Devonshire  — Cholera  in  England 
— Sanitary  Work — Bermondsey  — Jacob’s  Island  — 
Development  of  “Yeast"  — Influence  on  Young  Men 
— Recollections  by  Mr.  C.  Kegan  Paul  . . . 169 


CHAPTER  VIII 

1850-1851.  Aged  31-32 

Resigns  the  Office  of  Clerk  in  Orders  at  Chelsea — Pupil 
Life  at  Eversley — Publication  of  “ Alton  Locke  " — Let- 
ters from  Mr.  Carlyle  — Writes  for  “ Christian  Social- 
ist"— Troubled  State  of  the  Country  — Burglaries 
— The  Rectory  Attacked  — Heavy  Correspondence  — 
Letters  on  the  Romish  Question 203 


Contents 


ix 


CHAPTER  IX 

1S51.  Aged  32 

Pagb 

Letters  on  University  Reform — Beginnings  of  “ Hypatia  ” — 
Personal  Traits  — Work  and  Recreation — Teetotal- 
ism — Opening  of  the  Great  Exhibition  — Influence  of 
“ Yeast  ” — Lecture  on  Agriculture  — Occurrence  in  a 
London  Church  — Visit  to  Germany  — Letter  from  Mr. 

John  Martineau 230 

CHAPTER  X 

1852.  Aged  33 

Correspondence  — Strike  in  the  Iron  Trade — Letters  on 
Political  Parties,  on  Prayer,  on  Metaphysical  Questions 
— Parson  Lot’s  Last  Words  — Letters  to  Mr.  Ludlow  — 
Hexameters  — Poetry  — Frederika  Bremer  — Sunday 
Amusements  — To  a Jew 273 

CHAPTER  XI 

1853.  Aged  34 

The  Rector  in  His  Church  — “ Hypatia  ” — Letters  from 
Chevalier  Bunsen  — Mr.  Maurice’s  Theological  Es- 
says— Correspondence  with  Thomas  Cooper  . . 309 

CHAPTER  XII 

1854.  Aged  35 

Torquay  — Seaside  Studies  — Sanitary  Work  — Lectures  in 
Edinburgh  — Deutsche  Theologie  — About  Sisterhoods 
— Crimean  War — Settles  in  North  Devon  — Writes 
* “Westward  Ho!” 344 

CHAPTER  XIII 

1855.  Aged  36 

Bideford  — Crimean  War— Death  of  his  friend  Charles 
Blachford  Mansfield  — “ Westward  Ho  ! ” — Letters 
from  Mr.  Henry  Drummond  and  Rajah  Brooke  — On 
Bigots  — Drawing  Class  for  Mechanics  at  Bideford  — 
Leaves  Devonshire  — Lecture  to  Ladies  in  London 
— On  Being  an  Artist  — The  “ Heroes  ” — Letter  on 
Fam$ V 


366 


List  of  Illustrations 


VOLUME  I 


Charles  Kingsley Frontispiece 

From  portrait  by  Goodall. 

The  Rectory  and  Church  at  Eversley Page  97 

“ Rufus  bucking,  April  18,  1855  ” “ 380 


Reproduced  from  the  original  sketch  by  Charles  Kingsley 


INTRODUCTION 


MORE  lasting  and  beautiful  tribute  to  the 


beloved  dead  can  hardly  be  imagined  than 
“ Charles  Kingsley's  Letters  and  Memories  of  his 
Life,”  edited  by  his  wife ; and  what  is  most  strik- 
ing, perhaps,  is  the  complete  elimination  of  the 
author’s  own  personality.  Indeed,  but  for  the 
avowal  on  the  titlepage,  “ by  his  wife,”  the  biogra- 
phy might  have  been  written  by  some  intimate 
friend,  and,  for  aught  the  reader  knew,  the  wife  of 
Charles  Kingsley  might  have  been  a nonentity  in 
the  household. 

How  different  was  the  reality!  His  equal  in- 
tellectually, and  as  a literary  critic  possibly  his 
superior  — with  a man’s  power  of  grasping  great 
subjects  — she  was  withal  the  most  womanly  of 
wives  and  mothers.  In  all  his  literary  work  she 
was  his  adviser.  Poems,  novels,  lectures,  sermons, 
passed  under  her  supervision,  and  often  she  acted 
as  his  amanuensis.  The  entire  care  of  the  house- 
hold was  taken  off  his  shoulders,  and  if  he  might 
be  termed  the  father  of  Eversley  Parish,  surely 
she  was  do  less  the  mother,  — beloved  alike  by 
rich  and  poor. 


XIV 


Introduction 


And  above  all,  when  overworked  and  discour- 
aged, as  he  was  at  times,  by  attacks  on  his  writings 
and  utterances,  he  could  turn  to  her  for  comfort 
and  renewed  strength : 

“ Till  the  heart  which  at  even  was  weary  and  old 
Could  rise  in  the  morning  gay, 

Sweet  wife ; 

To  its  work  in  the  morning  gay.” 

It  has  been  commented  on  that  no  mention  is 
made  of  Charles  Kingsley's  brothers,  George  and 
Henry,  and  of  his  sister,  Mrs.  Chaunter;  but  we 
also  find  no  reference  to  Mrs.  Kingsley’s  own 
family  except  the  statement  that  she  was  the 
daughter  of  Pascoe  Penfell,  Esq.,  of  Tablow.  This 
was  done  purposely.  As  she  expressed  it  to  one 
of  her  children : “ I propose  to  write  a biography 
of  your  father  — as  I saw  him  and  as  the  world 
should  see  him  — and  not  a family  history  of  the 
Kingsleys  and  Penfells — any  one  can  do  that: 
but  only  I know  Charles  Kingsley’s  every  thought 
and  action.” 

In  her  labor  of  love  — for  such  one  must  call 
it  — she  was  pre-eminently  successful.  It  is  not 
always  easy  to  form  a true  opinion  of  the  man 
from  his  writings ; and  Charles  Kingsley’s  very 
versatility  made  it  the  more  difficult  in  his  case,  so 
many  of  his  deepest  thoughts  being  expressed  in 
allegory.  For  instance,  in  the  child’s  story  of 


Introduction 


xv 


44  The  Water-Babies,”  veiled  in  exquisite  fun,  are 
hidden  the  deepest  riddles  of  human  life  and 
thought ; and  his  letter  in  reference  to  the  book 
written  to  Frederick  Maurice,  and  printed  in  the 
Memories,  gives  the  key  note  to  the  underlying 
mystery,  so  far  as  he  cared  to  explain  it.  This 
is  a single  instance,  but  in  many  other  ways  the 
Memories  will  interpret  the  man  in  his  true 
light  to  those  who  did  not  know  him  person- 
ally. This  is  done  principally  in  the  form  of  his 
letters,  with  sufficient  comment  by  the  author  to 
make  it  a short,  consecutive,  history  of  her  hus- 
band’s life  and  works.  These  letters  reveal  the 
reasons  for  many  utterances  which  might  be 
misunderstood,  or,  as  has  happened  in  several 
cases,  which  have  been  wilfully  misinterpreted; 
and  they  prove,  above  all,  Charles  Kingsley’s  in- 
nate rightmindedness  and  honesty  of  purpose. 

Of  the  charm  and  beauty  of  their  home  life, 
it  is  not  for  me  to  speak : suffice  it  to  say  that 
the  hope,  expressed  by  the  Rector  of  Eversley 
to  his  future  wife: 

“ So  we  through  this  world's  waning  night 
May,  hand  in  hand,  pursue  our  way  ; 

Shed  round  us  order,  love,  and  light, 

And  shine  into  the  perfect  day  ” — 

was  verifed.  And  now,  in  a corner  of  the  quiet 
little  church-yard  at  Eversley,  under  the  shadow 


p 


XVI 


Introduction 


of  the  giant  pines  they  loved  so  well,  stands  a 
white  cross  over  the  grave  of  Charles  Kingsley 
and  Fanny  Eliza,  his  wife,  united  in  life  and  in 
death,  with  this  inscription  carved  upon  it: 

“ Amavimus,  Amamus,  Amabimus.” 


PREFACE 


TN  bringing  out  these  volumes,  thanks  are  due 
A and  gratefully  offered  to  all  who  have  gener- 
ously given  their  help  to  the  work ; — to  the  many 
known  and  unknown  Correspondents  who  have 
treasured  and  lent  the  letters  now  first  made 
public ; — to  the  publishers  who  have  allowed 
quotations  to  be  made  from  Mr.  Kingsley's  pub- 
lished works ; — but  above  all,  to  the  friends  who 
have  so  eloquently  borne  witness  to  his  character 
and  genius.  These  written  testimonies  to  their 
father's  worth  are  a rich  inheritance  to  his 
children,  and  God  only  knows  the  countless  un- 
written ones,  of  souls  rescued  from  doubt,  dark- 
ness, error,  and  sin,  of  work  done,  the  worth  of 
which  can  never  be  calculated  upon  earth,  of  seed 
sown  which  has  borne,  and  will  still  bear  fruit  for 
years,  perhaps  for  generations  to  come,  when  the 
name  of  Charles  Kingsley  is  forgotten,  while 
his  unconscious  influence  will  endure  treasured  up 
in  the  eternal  world,  where  nothing  really  good  or 


XV111 


Preface 


great  can  be  lost  or  pass  away,  to  be  revealed  at 
that  Day  when  God’s  Book  shall  be  opened  and 
the  thoughts  of  all  hearts  be  made  known. 


Byfleet,  October , 1876. 


F.  E.  K. 


CHARLES  KINGSLEY 


“ Sleep  after  toyle , port  after  stormie  seasf 

Ease  after  warre,  death  after  life , does  greatly  please 

Spenser’s  “Faerie  Queene.” 


CHAPTER  I 

1819-1838 

Birth  and  Parentage  — Inherited  Talents  — Removal 
from  Devonshire — Clifton  — Barnack  and  its 

Ghost-Chamber  — First  Sermon  and  Poems  — Child- 
ish Character  — Effect  of  Fen  Scenery  on  his  Mind 
— Life  at  Clovelly  — School  Life  at  Clifton  and 
Helston  — Chelsea— King’s  College,  London. 

And  Nature,  the  old  Nurse,  took 
The  child  upon  her  knee, 

Saying,  “ Here  is  a story  book 
Thy  Father  has  written  for  thee. 

" Come  wander  with  me,”  she  said, 

“ Into  regions  yet  untrod, 

And  read  what  is  still  unread 
In  the  Manuscripts  of  God.” 

And  he  wandered  away  and  away 
With  Nature,  the  dear  old  Nurse, 

Who  sang  to  him  night  and  day 
The  rhymes  of  the  Universe. 

And  whenever  the  way  seemed  long 
Or  his  heart  began  to  fail, 

She  would  sing  a more  wonderful  song, 

Or  tell  a more  wonderful  tale. 

Longfellow. 

CHARLES  KINGSLEY,  son  of  Charles 
Kingsley,  of  Battramsley  in  the  New  Forest, 
was  born  on  the  12th  of  June,  1819,  at  Holne 
Vicarage,  under  the  brow  of  Dartmoor,  Devon- 
shire. His  family  claimed  descent  from  the 

VOL.  I.  — I 


2 Charles  Kingsley 

Kingsleys  of  Kingsley  or  Vale  Royal,  in  Dela- 
mere  Forest,  and  from  Rannulph  de  Kingsley, 
whose  name  in  an  old  family  pedigree  stands  as 
“ Grantee  of  the  Forest  of  Mara  and  Mondrem 
from  Randall  Meschines,  ante  II28.,,  Charles’s 
father  was  educated  at  Harrow  and  Oxford,  and 
was  a man  of  cultivation  and  refinement,  a good 
linguist,  an  artist,  a keen  sportsman  and  natural 
historian.  He  had  been  brought  up  with  fair  ex- 
pectations as  a country  gentleman,  but  having 
been  left  an  orphan  early  in  life,  and  his  fortune 
squandered  for  him  during  his  minority,  he  soon 
spent  what  was  left,  and  at  the  age  of  thirty  was 
obliged,  for  the  first  time,  to  think  of  a profession. 
Being  too  old  for  the  army,  he  decided  on  the 
Church,  sold  his  hunters  and  land,  and,  with  a 
young  wife,  went  for  a second  time  to  college,  and 
read  for  Holy  Orders  at  Trinity  Hall,  Cambridge. 
He  was  curate  of  Holne  when  his  son  was  born. 

Charles’s  mother,  born  in  the  West  Indies,  but 
brought  up  in  England,  was  a remarkable  woman, 
full  of  poetry  and  enthusiasm.  Keenly  alive  to 
the  charms  of  scenery,  and  highly  imaginative,  she 
believed  that  all  impressions  made  on  her  own 
mind  before  the  birth  of  her  child,  by  the  roman- 
tic surroundings  of  her  Devonshire  home,  would 
be  transmitted  to  him ; and  in  this  faith  gave  her- 
self up  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  exquisite  scenery 
of  Holne  and  Dartmoor,  the  Chase,  the  hills,  the 
lovely  river  Dart  which  flowed  below  the  grounds 
of  the  little  parsonage,  and  of  every  sight  and 
sound  which  she  hoped  would  be  dear  to  her 
child  in  after  life.  These  hopes  were  realized, 
and  though  her  little  son  left  Holne  when  he  was 
six  weeks  old,  and  never  saw  his  birthplace  till  he 


Inherited  Talents  3 

was  a man  of  thirty,  yet  Devonshire  scenes  and 
associations  had  always  a mysterious  charm  for 
him. 

“ I firmly  believe/'  he  said  ill  after  life,  “ in  the  mag- 
netic effect  of  the  place  where  one  has  been  bred  ; and 
have  continually  the  true  ‘ heimweh ' home-sickness  of 
the  Swiss  and  Highlanders.  The  thought  of  the  West 
Country  will  make  me  burst  into  tears  at  any  moment. 
Wherever  I am  it  always  hangs  before  my  imagination  as 
home , and  I feel  myself  a stranger  and  a sojourner  in 
a foreign  land  the  moment  I get  east  of  Taunton  Dean, 
on  the  Mendips.  It  may  be  fancy,  but  it  is  most  real, 
and  practical,  as  many  fancies  are." 

Charles  Kingsley  was  an  instance  of  the  truth  of 
Mr.  Darwin's  theory,  “ That  genius  which  implies 
a wonderfully  complex  combination  of  high  facul- 
ties tends  to  be  inherited;"  for,  from  his  father’s 
side,  he  inherited  his  love  of  art,  his  sporting 
tastes,  his  fighting  blood  — the  men  of  his  family 
having  been  soldiers  for  generations,  some  of 
them  having  led  troops  to  battle  at  Naseby, 
Minden,  and  elsewhere.  And  from  the  mother’s 
side  came,  not  only  his  love  of  travel,  science,  and 
literature,  and  the  romance  of  his  nature,  but  his 
keen  sense  of  humor,  and  a force  and  originality 
which  characterized  the  women  of  her  family  of  a 
still  older  generation.  His  maternal  grandfather, 
Nathan  Lucas,  of  Farley  Hall,  who  had  estates  in 
the  West  Indies  and  Demerara,  and  was  for  many 
years  a judge  in  Barbadoes,  was  a man  of  science 
and  letters  ; a great  traveller,  and  the  intimate 
friend  of  Sir  Joseph  Banks  and  the  distinguished 
John  Hunter.  His  stories  of  tropical  scenes,  and 
reminiscences  of  the  old  war  times,  during  which 


4 Charles  Kingsley 

he  had  been  on  board  his  friend  Lord  Rodney’s 
ship,  the  “ Formidable/’  in  the  great  naval 
engagement  off  St.  Lucia,  were  the  delight  of 
Charles’s  boyhood,  and  woke  up  in  him  that 
longing  to  see  the  West  Indies  which  was  at  last 
accomplished. 

“ We  are/’  he  says  himself,  when  writing  to  Mr.  Galton, 
in  1865,  on  his  book  on  Hereditary  Talent,  where  the 
Kingsleys  as  a family  are  referred  to,  “ but  the  disjecta 
membra  of  a most  remarkable  pair  of  parents.  Our  tal- 
ent, such  as  it  is,  is  altogether  hereditary.  My  father 
was  a magnificent  man  in  body  and  mind,  and  was  said 
to  possess  every  talent  except  that  of  using  his  talents. 
My  mother,  on  the  contrary,  had  a quite  extraordinary 
practical  and  administrative  power ; and  she  combines 
with  it,  even  at  her  advanced  age  (79),  my  father’s 
passion  for  knowledge,  and  the  sentiment  and  fancy  of 
a young  girl.  . . 

But  to  return.  His  father,  after  leaving  Holne, 
went  to  Clifton  in  Nottinghamshire  ; and,  while 
curate  there,  the  Bishop  of  Peterborough,  Dr. 
Herbert  Marsh,  made  him  his  Examining  Chap- 
lain and  gave  him  the  living  of  Barnack  to  hold 
for  six  years.  Barnack  Rectory  was  a fine  old 
house,  built  in  the  fourteenth  century,  and  con- 
tained a celebrated  haunted  room  called  Button 
Cap,  which  is  still  looked  upon  with  mysterious 
dread  by  the  parishioners.  On  one  occasion,  when 
ill  of  brain  fever,  little  Charles  was  moved  into  this 
room,  and  for  years  afterwards  his  imagination  was 
haunted  by  the  weird  sights  and  sounds  associated 
with  that  time  in  his  memory.  To  this  he  at- 
tributed his  strong  disbelief  in  the  existence  of 
ghosts  in  later  years,  telling  his  own  children  he 


First  Composition  5 

had  heard  too  many  ghosts  in  old  Button  Cap’s 
room  at  Barnack  to  have  much  respect  for  them. 
He  thus  describes  the  room  to  Mrs.  Francis 
Pelham : 

Eversley,  1864.  — “ Of  Button  Cap  — he  lived  in  the 
Great  North  Room  at  Barnack.  I knew  him  well.  He 
used  to  walk  across  the  room  in  flopping  slippers,  and 
turn  over  the  leaves  of  books  to  find  the  missing  deed, 
whereof  he  had  defrauded  the  orphan  and  the  widow. 
He  was  an  old  Rector  of  Barnack.  Everybody  heard 
him  who  chose.  Nobody  ever  saw  him;  but  in  spite  of 
that,  he  wore  a flowered  dressing-gown,  and  a cap  with 
a button  on  it.  I never  heard  of  any  skeleton  being 
found ; and  Button  Cap’s  history  had  nothing  to  do  with 
murder,  only  with  avarice  and  cheating.  Sometimes  he 
turned  cross  and  played  Polter-geist,  as  the  Germans  say, 
rolling  the  barrels  in  the  cellar  about  with  surprising 
noise,  which  was  undignified.  So  he  was  always 
ashamed  of  himself,  and  put  them  all  back  in  their 
places  before  morning.  I suppose  he  is  gone  now. 
Ghosts  hate  mortally  a certificated  National  School- 
master, and  (being  a vain  and  peevish  generation)  as 
soon  as  people  give  up  believing  in  them,  go  away  in  a 
huff  — or  perhaps  some  one  had  been  laying  phosphoric 
paste  about,  and  he  ate  thereof  and  ran  down  to  the 
pond,  and  drank  till  he  burst.  He  was  rats  ! ” 

Charles  was  a precocious  child,  and  his  poems 
and  sermons  date  from  four  years  old.  His  de- 
light was  to  make  a little  pulpit  in  his  nursery, 
from  which,  after  arranging  the  chairs  for  an  im- 
aginary congregation,  and  putting  on  his  pinafore 
as  a surplice,  he  would  deliver  addresses  of  a 
rather  severe  tone  of  theology.  His  mother, 
unknown  to  him,  took  them  down  at  the  time, 


6 Charles  Kingsley 

and.  the  Bishop  of  Peterborough,  to  whom  she 
showed  them,  thought  them  so  remarkable  for 
such  a young  child,  that  he  predicted  that  the 
boy  would  grow  up  to  be  no  common  man. 
These  are  among  the  specimens  his  mother 
kept.  The  sermon  was  written  at  four  years 
old,  the  poem  at  four  years  and  eight  months. 


FIRST  SERMON 

“It  is  not  right  to  fight.  Honesty  has  no  chance 
against  stealing.  Christ  has  shown  us  true  religion. 
We  must  follow  God,  and  not  follow  the  devil,  for  if 
we  follow  the  devil  we  shall  go  into  that  everlasting  fire, 
and  if  we  follow  God,  we  shall  go  to  Heaven.  When 
the  tempter  came  to  Christ  in  the  Wilderness,  and  told 
him  to  make  the  stones  into  bread,  he  said,  Get  thee 
behind  me,  Satan.  He  has  given  us  a sign  and  an  ex- 
ample how  we  should  overcome  the  devil.  It  is  written 
in  the  Bible  that  we  should  love  our  neighbor,  and  not 
covet  his  house,  nor  his  ox,  nor  his  ass,  nor  his  wife,  nor 
anything  that  is  his.  It  is  to  a certainty  that  we  cannot 
describe  how  thousands  and  ten  thousands  have  been 
wicked ; and  nobody  can  tell  how  the  devil  can  be 
chained  in  hell.  Nor  can  we  describe  how  many  men 
and  women  and  children  have  been  good.  And  if  we 
go  to  Heaven  we  shall  find  them  all  singing  to  God  in 
the  highest.  And  if  we  go  to  hell,  we  shall  find  all  the 
wicked  ones  gnashing  and  wailing  their  teeth,  as  God 
describes  in  the  Bible.  If  humanity,  honesty,  and  good 
religion  fade,  we  can  to  a certainty  get  them  back,  by 
being  good  again.  Religion  is  reading  good  books,  doing 
good  actions,  and  not  telling  lies  and  speaking  evil,  and 
not  calling  their  brother  Fool  and  Raca.  And  if  we  re- 
bel against  God,  He  will  to  a certainty  cast  us  into  hell. 


Childish  Character  7 

And  one  day,  when  a great  generation  of  people  came  to 
Christ  in  the  Wilderness,  he  said,  Yea  ye  generation  of 
vipers ! ” 

SONG  UPON  LIFE 

“ Life  is,  and  soon  will  pass ; 

As  life  is  gone,  death  will  come. 

We  — we  rise  again  — 

In  Heaven  we  must  abide. 

Time  passes  quickly ; 

He  flies  on  wings  as  light  as  silk. 

We  must  die. 

It  is  not  false  that  we  must  rise  again  ; 

Death  has  its  fatal  sting, 

It  brings  us  to  the  grave. 

Time  and  Death  is  and  must  be.” 

Charles  was  a delicate,  nervous,  and  painfully 
sensitive  child  — he  twice  had  brain  fever,  and  was 
subject  to  dangerous  attacks  of  croup.  He  was 
always  remarkable  for  his  thirst  for  knowledge  and 
love  of  physical  science.  A friend  remembers  him 
now,  as  a little  boy  in  the  study  at  Barnack,  re- 
peating his  Latin  lesson  to  his  father,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  all  the  time  on  the  fire  in  the  grate.  At  last 
he  could  stand  it  no  longer;  there  was  a pause  in 
the  Latin,  and  Charles  cried  out,  “ I do  declare, 
papa,  there  is  pyrites  in  the  coal.” 

At  Barnack  the  boy’s  earliest  sporting  tastes  and 
love  of  natural  history  were  developed ; for  his 
father  was  one  of  the  old-fashioned  type  of  Eng- 
lish clergymen,  “ where,”  it  has  been  said,  “ the 
country  gentleman  forms  the  basis  of  the  charac- 
ter which  the  minister  of  the  Gospel  completes,” 
and  while  an  excellent  parish  priest  was  a keen 
sportsman ; so  as  soon  as  Charles  was  old  enough, 
he  was  mounted  on  his  father’s  horse  in  front  of 


8 Charles  Kingsley 

the  keeper  on  shooting-days  to  bring  back  the 
game-bag  — a rich  one  in  days  when  wild  duck 
and  coot,  bittern  and  bustard,  ruffs  and  reeves 
were  plentiful  in  the  Fen.  Butterflies  of  species 
now  extinct,  were  not  uncommon  then,  and  used 
to  delight  the  eyes  of  the  young  naturalist.  The 
sunsets  of  the  Great  Fen,  all  the  more  striking 
from  the  wide  sweep  of  horizon,  were  never  for- 
gotten, and  low  flat  scenery  had  always  a charm 
for  him  in  after  life  from  the  memory  of  those 
days.  “ They  have  a beauty  of  their  own,  those 
great  Fens;  a beauty  as  of  the  sea,  of  boundless 
expanse  and  freedom.  Overhead  the  arch  of 
Heaven  spreads  more  ample  than  elsewhere,  and 
that  vastness  gives  such  cloudlands,  such  sunrises, 
such  sunsets,  as  can  be  seen  nowhere  else  within 
these  isles/’  — (Preface  to  “ Hereward.”)  Again, 
in  a lecture  given  to  a Mechanics’  Institute  at  Cam- 
bridge on  the  Fens,  in  1867,  he  says: 

“ The  fancy  may  linger  without  blame,  over  the  shin- 
ing meres,  the  golden  reed-beds,  the  countless  water- 
fowl,  the  strange  and  gaudy  insects,  the  wild  nature,  the 
mystery,  the  majesty  — for  mystery  and  majesty  there 
were  — which  haunted  the  deep  fens  for  many  hundred 
years.  Little  thinks  the  Scotsman,  whirled  down  by  the 
Great  Northern  Railway  from  Peterborough  to  Hunting- 
don, what  a grand  place,  even  twenty  years  ago,  was  that 
Holme  and  Whittlesea,  which  is  now  but  a black  un- 
sightly steaming  flat,  from  which  the  meres  and  reed- 
beds  of  the  old  world  are  gone,  while  the  corn  and  roots 
of  the  new  world  have  not  as  yet  taken  their  place. 
But  grand  enough  it  was,  that  black  ugly  place,  when 
backed  byCaistor  Hanglands  and  Holme  Wood  and  the 
patches  of  the  primeval  forest ; while  dark  green  alders, 
and  pale  green  reeds,  stretched  for  miles  round  the 


Life  at  Clovelly  9 

broad  lagoon,  where  the  coot  clanked,  and  the  bittern 
boomed,  and  the  sedge-bird,  not  content  with  its  own 
sweet  song,  mocked  the  notes  of  all  the  birds  around ; 
while  high  overhead  hung  motionless,  hawk  beyond 
hawk,  buzzard  beyond  buzzard,  kite  beyond  kite,  as 
far  as  eye  could  see.  Far  off,  upon  the  silver  mere, 
would  rise  a puff  of  smoke  from  a punt,  invisible  from 
its  flatness  and  white  paint.  Then  down  the  wind  came 
the  boom  of  the  great  stanchion  gun ; and  after  that 
sound,  another  sound,  louder  as  it  neared  ; a cry  as  of 
all  the  bells  of  Cambridge  and  all  the  hounds  of  Cottes- 
more ; and  overhead  rushed  and  whirled  the  skein  of 
terrified  wild-fowl,  screaming,  piping,  clacking,  croaking, 
— filling  the  air  with  the  hoarse  rattle  of  their  wings, 
while  clear  above  all  sounded  the  wild  whistle  of  the 
curlew  and  the  trumpet  note  of  the  great  wild  swan. 
They  are  all  gone  now.  No  longer  do  the  ruffs  trample 
the  sedge  into  a hard  floor  in  their  fighting  rings,  while 
the  sober  reeves  stand  round,  admiring  the  tournament 
of  their  lovers,  gay  with  ruffs  and  tippets,  no  two  of 
them  alike.  Gone  are  ruffs  and  reeves,  spoonbills,  bit- 
terns, avosets ; the  very  snipe,  one  hears,  disdains  to 
breed.  Gone,  too,  not  only  from  the  Fens,  but  from 
the  whole  world,  is  that  most  exquisite  of  butterflies  — 
Lyccena  dispar  — the  great  copper ; and  many  a curious 
insect  more.”  [“  Prose  Idylls. ”] 

This  picture,  stamped  on  the  boy’s  young  mind, 
inspired  him  in  after  years  in  writing  the  story  of 
Hereward  the  Wake. 

In  1830  Mr.  Kingsley  gave  up  the  living  of  Bar- 
nack,  which  he  had  held  for  Bishop  Marsh’s  son, 
and  went  into  Devonshire,  where  Sir  James  Hamlyn 
Williams,  of  Clovelly  Court,  presented  him  to  the 
rectory  of  Clovelly. 

Here  a fresh  life  opened  for  Charles ; a new  edu- 


io  Charles  Kingsley 

cation  began  for  him ; a new  world  was  revealed 
to  him.  The  contrast  between  the  sturdy  Fen 
men  and  the  sailors  and  fishermen  at  Clovelly  — 
between  the  flat  Eastern  Counties,  and  the  rocky 
Devonshire  coast  with  its  rich  vegetation,  its  new 
fauna  and  flora,  and  blue  sea  with  the  long  Atlan- 
tic swell,  filled  him  with  delight  and  wonder.  At 
Clovelly  he  and  his  brothers  had  their  boat  and 
their  ponies,  and  Charles  at  once  plunged  into  the 
study  of  conchology.  His  parents,  both  people  of 
excitable  natures  and  poetic  feeling,  shared  in  the 
boy’s  enthusiasm.  The  new  elements  of  their  life 
at  Clovelly,  the  unique  scenery,  the  impression- 
able character  of  the  people  and  their  singular 
beauty,  the  courage  of  the  men  and  boys,  and  the 
passionate  sympathy  of  the  women  in  the  wild  life 
of  their  husbands  and  sons,  threw  a charm  of  ro- 
mance over  the  parish  work.  The  people  sprang 
to  touch  the  more  readily  under  the  influence  of 
their  new  rector — a man,  who,  physically  their 
equal,  feared  no  danger,  and  could  steer  a boat, 
hoist  and  lower  a sail,  “ shoot”  a herring  net,  and 
haul  a seine  as  one  of  themselves.  Mr.  Kingsley’s 
ministrations  in  church  and  in  the  cottages  were 
acceptable  to  dissenters  as  well  as  church  people. 
And  when  the  herring  fleet  put  to  sea,  whatever 
the  weather  might  be,  he  would  start  off  “ down 
street,”  for  the  Quay,  with  his  wife  and  boys,  to 
give  a short  parting  service,  at  which  “ men  who 
worked,”  and  “ women  who  wept,”  would  join  in 
singing  the  121st  Psalm  out  of  the  old  Prayer 
Book,  as  those  only  can  who  have  death  and 
danger  staring  them  in  the  face ; and  who, 
“ though  storms  be  sudden,  and  waters  deep,” 
can  boldly  say : 


Life  at  Clovelly  1 1 

“ To  Sion’s  hill  I lift  mine  eyes, 

From  thence  expecting  aid, 

From  Sion’s  Hill  and  Sion’s  God 
Who  heaven  and  earth  has  made.” 

Such  memories  made  this  Psalm,  in  Tate  and 
Brady’s  rough  versification,  more  dear  and  speak- 
ing to  Charles  in  after  life,  than  any  hymn  “ ancient 
or  modern  ” of  more  artistic  form.  Such  memo- 
ries still  make  the  name  of  Kingsley  a household 
word  in  Clovelly. 

A life  so  full  of  romantic  and  often  tragic  inci- 
dents must  needs  leave  its  mark  on  Charles’s  mind. 
One  day  especially'  would  rise  up  often  before 
him  in  contrast  to  the  still  summer  brightness 
of  Clovelly: 

“when  the  old  bay  lay  darkened  with  the  gray  columns 
of  the  water-spouts,  stalking  across  the  waves  before  the 
northern  gale ; and  the  tiny  herring-boats  fleeing  from 
their  nets  right  for  the  breakers,  hoping  more  mercy  even 
from  those  iron  walls  of  rock  than  from  the  pitiless  howl- 
ing waste  of  spray  behind  them ; and  that  merry  beach 
beside  the  town  covered  with  shrieking  women  and  old 
men,  casting  themselves  on  the  pebbles  in  fruitless  ago- 
nies of  prayer,  as  corpse  after  corpse  swept  up  at  the  feet 
of  wife  and  child,  till  in  one  case  alone,  a single  dawn 
saw  upwards  of  sixty  widows  and  orphans  weeping  over 
those  who  had  gone  out  the  night  before  in  the  fulness 
of  strength  and  courage.  Hardly  an  old  playmate  of 
mine  but  is  drowned  and  gone.1  . . 

Such  were  the  scenes  which  colored  his  boy- 
hood, were  reflected  in  his  after  life,  and  produced 
the  song  of  “ Three  Fishers,”  which  was  not  a mere 
creation  of  his  imagination,  but  the  literal  tram 

1 “ North  Devon.”  (“  Prose  Idylls.”) 


1 2 Charles  Kingsley 

script  of  what  he  had  seen  again  and  again  in  Dev- 
onshire. “ Now  that  you  have  seen  the  dear  old 
Paradise/'  he  said  to  his  wife,  after  her  first  visit  to 
Clovelly  in  1854,  “you  know  what  was  the  inspira- 
tion of  my  life  before  I met  you.” 

In  1831,  Charles  went  to  Clifton,  to  Mr.  Knight’s 
preparatory  school,  who  describes  him  as  an 
“ affectionate  boy,  gentle  and  fond  of  quiet,” 
glad  to  leave  the  boys’  school-room  and  take 
refuge  with  his  tutor’s  daughters  and  their  gov- 
erness ; capable  of  making  remarkable  translations 
of  Latin^verse  into  English;  a passionate  lover  of 
natural  history;  and  only  excited  to  vehement 
anger  when  the  housemaid  swept  away  as  rub- 
bish some  of  the  treasures  collected  in  his  walks 
on  the  Downs.  The  Bristol  Riots,  which  took 
place  in  the  autumn  of  1831,  were  the  marked 
event  in  his  life  at  Clifton.  Pie  had  been  a timid 
boy  previous  to  this  time,  but  the  horror  of  the 
scenes  which  he  witnessed  seemed  to  wake  up  a 
new  courage  in  him. 

“ It  was  in  this  very  City  of  Bristol,  twenty-seven  years 
ago,”  he  says,  when  giving  a lecture  there  in  1858,  “that 
I received  my  first  lesson  in  what  is  now  called  ‘ social 
science/  and  yet,  alas,  ten  years  elapsed  ere  I could 
even  spell  out  that  lesson,  though  it  had  been  written 
for  me  (as  well  as  for  all  England)  in  letters  of  flame, 
from  one  end  of  the  country  to  the  other.  I was  a 
school-boy  in  Clifton  up  above.  I had  been  hearing  of 
political  disturbances,  even  of  riots,  of  which  I under- 
stood nothing,  and  for  which  I cared  nothing.  But  on 
one  memorable  Sunday  afternoon  I saw  an  object  which 
was  distinctly  not  political.  It  was  an  afternoon  of  sul- 
len autumn  rain.  The  fog  hung  thick  over  the  docks 
and  lowlands.  Glaring  through  that  fog  I saw  a bright 


Clifton  and  Helston  1 3 

mass  of  flame  — almost  like  a half-risen  sun.  That,  I 
was  told,  was  the  gate  of  the  new  jail  on  fire  — that  the 

prisoners  had  been  set  free  ; — that . But  why 

speak  of  what  too  many  here  recollect  but  too  well? 
The  fog  rolled  slowly  upward.  Dark  figures,  even  at 
that  great  distance,  were  flitting  to  and  fro  across  what 
seemed  the  mouth  of  the  pit.  The  flame  increased  — 
multiplied  — at  one  point  after  another;  till,  by  ten 
o'clock  that  night,  one  seemed  to  be  looking  down 
upon  Dante’s  Inferno,  and  to  hear  the  multitudinous 
moan  and  wail  of  the  lost  spirits  surging  to  and  fro  amid 
that  sea  of  fire.  Right  behind  Brandon  Hill  — how  can 
I ever  forget  it  ? — rose  the  central  mass  of  fire,  till  the 
little  mound  seemed  converted  into  a volcano,  from  the 
peak  of  which  the  flame  streamed  up,  not  red  alone,  but 
delicately,  green  and  blue,  pale  rose  and  pearly  white,  while 
crimson  sparks  leapt  and  fell  again  in  the  midst  of  that 
rainbow,  not  of  hope,  but  of  despair ; and  dull  explo- 
sions down  below  mingled  with  the  roar  of  the  mob,  and 
the  infernal  hiss  and  crackle  of  the  flame.  Higher  and 
higher  the  fog  was  scorched  and  shrivelled  upward  by 
the  fierce  heat  below,  glowing  through  and  through  with 
red  reflected  glare,  till  it  arched  itself  into  one  vast  dome 
of  red-hot  iron,  fit  roof  for  all  the  madness  down  below 
— and  beneath  it,  miles  away,  I could  see  the  lonely 
tower  of  Dundry  shining  red  — the  symbol  of  the  old 
faith,  looking  down  in  stately  wonder  and  sorrow  upon 
the  fearful  birth-throes  of  a new  age.  ...  It  was 
on  the  Tuesday  or  Wednesday  after  that  I saw  an- 
other, and  still  more  awful  sight.  Along  the  north  side 
of  Queen  Square,  in  front  of  ruins  which  had  been 
three  days  before  noble  buildings,  lay  a ghastly  row,  not 
of  corpses,  but  of  corpse-fragments,  and  there  was  one 
charred  fragment  — with  a scrap  of  old  red  petticoat  ad- 
hering to  it,  which  I never  forgot  — which,  1 trust  in 
God,  I never  shall  forget.  It  is  good  for  a man  to  be 


14  Charles  Kingsley 

brought,  once  at  least  in  his  life,  face  to  face  with  fact, 
ultimate  fact,  however  horrible  it  may  be ; and  have  to 
confess  to  himself,  shuddering,  what  things  are  possible 
upon  God’s  earth,  when  man  has  forgotten  that  his  only 
welfare  is  in  living  after  the  likeness  of  God.”  — (Mis- 
cellanies : Great  Cities  and  their  Influence  for  Good 
and  Evil.) 

From  Clifton  Charles  went  to  Helston  School. 
His  parents  had  thought  of  both  Rugby  and  Eton 
for  him.  Dr.  Hawtry,  head-master  of  Eton,  who 
had  heard  of  the  boy's  talent,  was  anxious  to  have 
him  there,  and  Dr.  Arnold  was  at  that  time  at  Rug- 
by. But  the  strong  Tory  principles  and  evangel- 
ical views  of  his  parents  (in  the  former,  Charles  at 
that  time  sympathized)  decided  them  against  Rug- 
by— a decision  which  their  son  deeply  regretted 
for  many  reasons,  when  he  grew  up.  It  was  his 
own  conviction  that  nothing  but  a public  school 
education  would  have  overcome  his  constitutional 
shyness,  a shyness  which  he  never  lost,  and  which 
was  naturally  increased  by  the  hesitation  in  his 
speech — “ That  fearful  curse  of  stammering,”  as 
he  calls  it,  “ which  has  been  my  misery  since  my 
childhood.”  This  was  a sore  trial  to  him  through 
life ; and  he  often  wished,  he  said,  as  he  entered  a 
room  or  spoke  in  public  or  private,  that  the  earth 
would  open  and  swallow  him  up  there  and  then. 

Helston  School  was  then  under  the  head-master- 
ship of  the  Rev.  Derwent  Coleridge,  son  of  Sam- 
uel Taylor  Coleridge.  The  Rev.  Charles  A.  Johns, 
who  was  then  second  master,  and  a first-rate  bot- 
anist, soon  made  himself  Charles’s  companion,  en- 
couraging his  young  pupil  in  all  his  tastes,  and 
going  long  rambles  with  him  on  the  neighboring 


Clifton  and  Helston  15 

moors  and  on  the  sea-coast,  in  search  of  wild 
flowers  and  minerals.  Here  Charles  formed  the 
dearest  and  most  lasting  friendship  of  his  life,  with 
Richard  Cowley  Powles,  afterwards  Fellow  and 
Tutor  of  Exeter  College,  Oxford. 

“It  was  at  Helston,  in  January,  1833,”  says  Mr. 
Powles,  “when  we  were  each  in  our  fourteenth  year, 
that  Charles  and  I first  became  acquainted.  I remem- 
ber the  long,  low  room,  dimly  lighted  by  a candle  on  a 
table  at  the  further  end,  where  the  brothers  were  sitting, 
engaged  at  the  moment  of  my  entrance  in  a course  of 
(not  uncharacteristic)  experiments  with  gunpowder. 
Almost  from  the  time  of  our  first  introduction  Charles 
and  I became  friends,  and  subsequently  we  shared  a 
study.  Looking  back  on  those  school-boy  days,  one  can 
trace  without  difficulty  the  elements  of  character  that 
made  his  maturer  life  remarkable.  Of  him  more  than 
of  most  men  who  have  become  famous  it  may  be  said 
* the  boy  was  father  of  the  man.’  The  vehement  spirit, 
the  adventurous  courage,  the  love  of  truth,  the  impa- 
tience of  injustice,  the  quick  and  tender  sympathy,  that 
distinguished  the  man’s  entrance  on  public  life,  were  all 
in  the  boy,  as  any  of  those  who  knew  him  then  and  are 
still  living  will  remember;  and  there  was,  besides,  the 
same  eagerness  in  the  pursuit  of  physical  knowledge, 
the  same  keen  observation  of  the  world  around  him, 
and  the  same  thoughtful  temper  of  tracing  facts  to 
principles. 

“ For  all  his  good  qualities,  Charles  was  not  popular 
as  a school-boy.  He  knew  too  much,  and  his  mind  was 
generally  on  a higher  level  than  ours.  Then,  too, 
though  strong  and  active,  Charles  was  not  expert  at 
games.  He  never  made  ‘ a score  ’ at  cricket.  In  mere 
feats  of  agility  and  adventure  he  was  among  the  fore- 
most ; and  on  one  of  the  very  last  times  I ever  saw  him 


1 6 Charles  Kingsley 

he  was  recalling  an  old  exploit  in  which  he  had  only  two 
competitors.  Our  play-ground  was  separated  by  a lane, 
not  very  narrow,  and  very  deep,  from  a field  on  the  op- 
posite side.  To  jump  from  the  play-ground  wall  to  the 
wall  opposite,  and  to  jump  back,  was  a considerable  trial 
of  nerve  and  muscle.  The  walls,  which  were  not  quite 
on  a level,  were  rounded  at  the  top,  and  a fall  into  the 
deep  lane  must  have  involved  broken  bones.  This 
jump  was  one  of  Charles’s  favorite  performances. 
Again,  I remember  his  climbing  a tall  tree  to  take  an 
egg  from  a hawk’s  nest.  For  three  or  four  days  he  had 
done  this  with  impunity.  There  came  an  afternoon, 
however,  when  the  hawk  was  on  her  nest,  and  on  the  in- 
truder’s putting  in  his  hand  as  usual  the  results  were  dis- 
astrous. To  most  boys  the  surprise  of  the  hawk’s  attack, 
apart  from  the  pain  inflicted  by  her  claws,  would  have 
been  fatal.  They  would  have  loosed  their  hold  of  the 
tree,  and  tumbled  down.  But  Charles  did  not  flinch. 
He  came  down  as  steadily  as  if  nothing  had  happened, 
though  his  wounded  hand  was  streaming  with  blood.  It 
was  wonderful  how  well  he  bore  pain.  On  one  occa- 
sion, having  a sore  finger,  he  determined  to  cure  it  by 
cautery.  He  heated  the  poker  red-hot  in  the  school- 
room fire,  and  calmly  applied  it  two  or  three  times  till  he 
was  satisfied  that  his  object  was  attained.  His  own  en- 
durance of  pain  did  not,  however,  make  him  careless  of 
suffering  in  others.  He  was  very  tender-hearted  — often 
more  so  than  his  school-fellows  could  understand ; and 
what  they  did  not  understand  they  were  apt  to  ridicule. 
The  moral  quality  that  pre-eminently  distinguished  him 
as  a boy,  was  the  generosity  with  which  he  forgave 
offence.  He  was  keenly  sensitive  to  ridicule ; noth- 
ing irritated  him  more  ; and  he  had  often  excessive  prov- 
ocation from  those  who  could  not  enter  into  his  feelings, 
or  appreciate  the  workings  of  his  mind.  But  with  the 
moment  of  offence  the  memory  of  it  passed  away.  He 


Clifton  and  Helston  17 

had  no  place  for  vindictiveness  in  his  heart.  Again  and 
again  I have  seen  him  chafed  to  intensest  exasperation 
by  boys  with  whom  half  an  hour  afterwards  he  has  mixed 
with  the  frankest  good-humor.  How  keen  his  feelings 
were  none  of  his  surviving  school- fellows  will  forget,  who 
were  with  us  at  the  time  his  brother  Herbert  died. 
Herbert  had  had  an  attack  of  rheumatic  fever,  but  was 
supposed  to  be  recovering,  when  one  afternoon  he 
suddenly  passed  away.  Charles  was  summoned  from 
the  room  where  we  were  all  sitting  in  ignorance  of  what 
had  just  taken  place.  All  at  once  a cry  of  anguish  burst 
upon  us,  such  as,  after  more  than  forty  years,  I remem- 
ber as  if  it  were  yesterday.  There  was  no  need  to  tell 
the  awe-struck  listeners  what  had  happened. 

“ Charles’s  chief  taste  was  for  physical  science ; for 
botany  and  geology  he  had  an  absolute  enthusiasm. 
Whatever  time  he  could  spare  he  gave  to  these.  He 
liked  nothing  better  than  to  sally  out,  hammer  in  hand 
and  his  botanical  tin  slung  round  his  neck,  on  some  long 
expedition  in  quest  of  new  plants,  and  to  investigate  the 
cliffs  within  a few  miles  of  Helston,  dear  to  every  geolo- 
gist. For  the  study  of  language  he  had  no  great  liking. 
Later  on,  Greek  and  Latin  interested  him  because  of 
their  subject-matter ; but  for  classics,  in  the  school-boy 
sense  of  the  term,  he  had  no  turn.  He  would  work  hard 
at  them  by  fits  and  starts  — on  the  eve  of  an  examina- 
tion, for  instance ; but  his  industry  was  intermittent  and 
against  the  grain.  His  passion  was  for  natural  science, 
and  for  art.  With  regard  to  the  former  I think  his  zeal 
was  led  by  a strong  religious  feeling  — a sense  of  the 
nearness  of  God  in  His  works.  Thus  he  writes  at  six- 
teen years  of  age  to  one  of  two  friends,  in  whose  inter- 
course with  each  other  he  was  much  interested  : e Teach 
her  a love  of  nature.  Stir  her  imagination,  and  excite 
her  awe  and  delight  by  your  example.  Point  out  to  her 
the  sublime  and  terrible,  the  lovely  and  joyous,  and  let 
vol.  1.  — 2 


1 8 Charles  Kingsley 

her  look  on  them  both  with  the  same  over-ruling  feeling, 
with  a reference  to  their  Maker.  Teach  her  to  love  God, 
teach  her  to  love  Nature.  God  is  love ; and  the  more  we 
love  Him,  the  more  we  love  all  around  us.’  In  the  same 
letter  occurs  a passage  bearing  on  art.  It  shows  that,  so 
far  as  he  had  then  gone,  the  writer  had  definite  views 
and  conceptions  of  his  own  on  subjects  of  which  boys  of 
his  age  — I am  speaking  of  forty  years  ago  — had  hardly 
begun  to  think  at  all.  ‘ I love  paintings.  They  and 
poetry  are  identical  — the  one  is  the  figures,  the  other 
the  names  of  beauty  and  feeling  of  every  kind.  Of  all 
the  painters  Vandyke  and  Murillo  are  to  my  mind  the 
most  exquisitely  poetical.  Rubens  is  magnificent,  but 
dreadful.  His  “ Day  of  Judgement  ” is  the  most  awful 
picture  I ever  saw.  It  rapt  me  in  awe  and  horror,  and 
I stood  riveted  for  many  minutes  in  astonishment. 
What  must  the  original  at  Dusseldorf  be  in  which  the 
figures  are  as  large  as  life  ! * . . 

In  recalling  the  school  days  of  his  pupil,  the  Rev. 
Derwent  Coleridge  writes : 

“ . . . Charles  was  a tall,  slight  boy,  of  keen  visage, 
and  of  great  bodily  activity,  high-spirited,  earnest,  and 
energetic,  giving  full  promise  of  the  intellectual  powers, 
and  moral  qualities,  by  which  he  was  afterwards  distin- 
guished. Though  not  a close  student,  he  was  an  eager 
reader  and  inquirer,  sometimes  in  very  out  of  the  way 
quarters.  I once  found  him  busily  engaged  with  an  old 
copy  of  ‘ Porphyry  and  Iamblichus,*  which  he  had  fer- 
reted out  of  my  library.  Truly  a remarkable  boy,  origi- 
nal to  the  verge  of  eccentricity,  and  yet  a thorough  boy, 
fond  of  sport,  and  up  to  any  enterprise  — a genuine  out- 
of-doors  English  boy.  His  account  of  a walk  or  run 
would  often  display  considerable  eloquence  ; the  impedi- 
ment in  his  speech,  rather  adding  to  the  effect.  In 
manner  he  was  strikingly  courteous,  and  thus, "with  his 


Clifton  and  Helston  19 

wide  and  ready  sympathies,  and  bright  intelligence,  was 
popular  alike  with  all.” 

From  Helston  Charles  writes  to  his  mother: 

“ I am  now  quite  settled  and  very  happy.  I read  my 
Bible  every  night,  and  try  to  profit  by  what  I read,  and  I 
am  sure  I do.  I am  more  happy  now  than  I have  been 
for  a long  time ; but  I do  not  like  to  talk  about  it,  but  to 
prove  it  by  my  conduct.  I am  keeping  a journal  of  my 
actions  and  thoughts,  and  I hope  it  will  be  useful  to 
me.  . . 

May  16,  1835.  — “I  have  just  received  your  letter 
about  the  plants,  and  I wish  to  tell  you  that  you  must 
not  send  the  new  plant  away  without  either  finding  me 
some  more,  or  keeping  one  piece.  I entreat  you,  get  me 
a bit.  It  can  hardly  be  an  arum,  and  they  ought  to  be 
able  to  find  out  whether  it  is  an  orchis  or  not.  Dry  me 
as  much  spurge  as  you  can  — as  much  bird’s-nest 
orchis,  and  plenty  of  tway-blade,  of  which  there  are 
quantities  in  the  long  walk  — all  the  Arabis  to  be  found, 
woodruff,  Marsh  marigold,  and  cockle.  Give  my  love  to 
Emily,  and  ask  her  to  dry  me  some  Adoxa.  The  plant 
in  the  moors  is  in  flower  now.  Menyanthes  trifoliata  is 
its  name,  and  we  have  found  it  here  long  ago.  I ques- 
tion whether  that  is  really  ‘ Arabis  stricta  ; ? Hirsuta,  it  is 
very  likely  to  be.  If  it  is  *'  stricta/  it  is  a most  noble 
prize.  If  you  go  to  Bragela  you  will  find  a very  large 
red-stalked  spurge,  ‘ Euphorbia  amygdaloides/  growing 
by  the  path,  before  you  enter  the  wood,  as  you  come  up 
from  the  beach  — pray  dry  me  some  of  this.  I have 
found  Spergula  subulata,  Vicea  angustifolia,  Asplenium 
lanceolatum ! ! ! Scilla  verna,  Arenaria  verna,  Tees- 
dalia  nudicaulis,  Ornithopus  perpusillus,  Carex  strigosa, 
Carex  iEden,  and  several  others.  I believe  there  are 
only  two  other  habitats  for  Asplenium  lanceolatum  known. 
I am  only  sorry  we  are  not  going  to  Ireland,  but  I shall 
make  the  most  of  my  time  at  Plymouth,  and  on  the 


20  Charles  Kingsley 

South  Downs,  where  I shall  be  certain  to  get  excellent 
plants.  The  orchids  are  unequalled  on  the  South 
Downs.  . . .” 

February  24,  1836.  — I write  to  tell  you  that  I am  quite 
well  and  very  happy.  I have  finished  Psyche  (a  Prose 
Poem)  as  you  asked  me.  There  is  no  botany  yet,  but  have 
been  studying  a little  mineralogy  and  geology.  Tell  Papa 
I have  a very  good  specimen  of  hornblende  rock  from  the 
Lizard,  and  that  I have  found  in  great  quantities  a very 
beautiful  mineral,  but  whether  it  is  schorl  or  aximite,  I 
cannot  determine.  Tell  him  the  gradations  of  mica, 
slate,  and  Grauwacke  slate  are  very  beautiful  and  perfect 
here.  . . 

His  early  poems,  which  were  many,  show  the 
same  minute  observation  and  intense  love  of 
nature.  They  show  too,  Mr.  Powles  says,  “ the 
pains  he  took  to  describe  exactly  what  he  saw, 
instead  of  running  off  into  the  vague  generalities 
and  commonplaces  with  which  young  versifiers 
often  think  to  take  poetry  by  storm.”  But  while 
seemingly  absorbed  in  external  objects,  the  boy 
lived  in  a world  of  his  own.  He  refers  to  this 
when  at  Cambridge. 

i Jj,y  ■ ' ' 

“Once  the  love  of  nature  constituted  my  whole  hap- 
piness ; in  the  ‘ shadowy  recollections ? and  vague  emo- 
tions which  were  called  up  by  the  inanimate  creation,  I 
found  a mine  of  mysterious  wealth,  in  which  I revelled 
while  I knew  not  its  value.  The  vast  and  the  sublime, 
or  the  excitement  of  violent  motion,  affected  me  almost 
to  madness ; I have  shed  strange  tears,  I know  not  why, 
at  the  sight  of  the  most  luscious  and  sunny  prospects. 
But  ‘there  has  passed  away  a glory  from  the  earth.’ 
Though  I feel  the  beauty  more  exquisitely  than  ever,  I 
do  not  feel  the  emotions  it  produced.  I do  not  shun 
society  as  when  a boy,  because  man  and  his  coarseness 


Chelsea  21 

and  his  folly  seemed  only  to  disarrange  my  world  of 
woods  and  hills,  and  stream  and  sea,  peopled  not  with 
actual  existences,  but  with  abstract  emotions  which  were 
neither  seen  nor  heard,  while  their  presence  was 
felt ” 

In  1836,  Lord  Cadogan  gave  his  father  the  living 
of  Chelsea,  and  the  free  happy  country  life  was  ex- 
changed for  a London  home.  It  was  a bitter  grief 
to  Charles  to  leave  the  West  Country,  with  its  rich 
legendary  lore,  its  botany  and  geology — to  lose 
the  intellectual  atmosphere  of  Mr.  Coleridge's 
house  and  his  valuable  library,  and,  above  all,  the 
beautiful  natural  surroundings  of  both  Helston 
and  Clovelly.  The  change  to  a London  rectory, 
with  its  ceaseless  parish  work,  the  middle-class 
society  of  Chelsea,  the  polemical  conversation  all 
seemingly  so  narrow  and  conventional  in  its  tone, 
chafed  the  boy's  spirit,  and  had  anything  but  a 
happy  effect  on  his  mind. 

“ I find  a doleful  difference,”  he  writes  to  Mr.  Powles, 
“ in  the  society  here  and  at  Helston,  paradoxical  as  it 
may  appear.  . . . We  have  nothing  but  clergymen  (very 
good  and  sensible  men,  but),  talking  of  nothing  but 
parochial  schools,  and  duties,  and  vestries,  and  curates, 
&c.,  &c.,  &c.  And  as  for  women,  there  is  not  a woman 
in  all  Chelsea,  leaving  out  my  own  mother,  to  be  com- 
pared to  Mrs.  C.,  or  ; and  the  girls  here  have  got 

their  heads  crammed  full  of  schools,  and  district  visiting, 
and  baby-linen,  and  penny  clubs.  Confound!  ! ! and 
going  about  among  the  most  abominable  scenes  of  filth, 
wretchedness,  and  indecency,  to  visit  the  poor  and  read 
the  Bible  to  them.  My  own  mother  says  the  places  they 
go  into  are  fit  for  no  girl  to  see,  and  that  they  should 
not  know  such  things  exist.  . . „ I have  got  here  two 
or  three  good  male  acquaintances  who  kill  the  time ; one 


22  Charles  Kingsley 

is  sub-secretary  to  the  Geological  society.  ...  As  you 
may  suppose  all  this  clerical  conversation  (to  which  I 
am  obliged  to  listen)  has  had  a slight  effect  in  settling 
my  opinions  on  these  subjects,  and  I begin  to  hate  these 
dapper  young-ladies-preachers  like  the  devil,  for  I am 
sickened  and  enraged  to  see  4 silly  women  blown  about 
with  every  wind/  falling  in  love  with  the  preacher  instead 
of  his  sermon,  and  with  his  sermon  instead  of  the  Bible. 
I could  say  volumes  on  this  subject  that  should  raise  both 
your  contempt  and  indignation.  I am  sickened  with  its 
day- by-day  occurrence.”  1 

Charles  now  became  a day  student  at  King’s 
College,  London,  where  for  two  years  he  had  what 
he  called  hard  grinding  work,  walking  up  there 
every  day  from  Chelsea,  reading  all  the  way,  and 
walking  home  late,  to  study  all  the  evening.  One 
of  his  tutors  there  speaks  of  him  as  “ gentle  and 
diffident  to  timidity.” 

“I  have  never,”  writes  another,  Archdeacon  Brown, 
“ forgotten  the  happy  intercourse  which  I had  in  former 
days  with  him,  when  he  attended  my  lectures  at  King’s 
College.  I well  remember  his  zeal,  taste,  and  industry  in 
his  classical  studies,  and  that  he  always  took  a high  place 
in  the  examinations  . . . and  some  time  after  he  was 
known  to  fame,  his  expressing  to  me  his  gratitude  for 
having  introduced  him  to  the  study  of  the  works  of 
Plato,  which  he  said  had  a great  influence  on  his  mind 
and  habits  of  thought.” 

Charles’s  life  at  Chelsea  was  not  a bright  one. 
His  parents  were  absorbed  in  their  parish  work, 

1 These  early  experiences  made  him  most  careful  in  after  life, 
when  in  a parish  of  his  own,  to  confine  all  talk  of  parish  business 
to  its  own  hours,  and  never,  as  he  called  it,  to  “ talk  shop  ” before 
his  children,  or  lower  the  tone  of  conversation  by  letting  it  de* 
generate  into  mere  parochial  and  clerical  gossip. 


Chelsea  23 

and  their  religious  views  precluded  all  public 
amusements  for  their  children.  So  in  his  spare 
hours,  which  were  few  and  far  between,  he  com- 
forted himself  for  the  lack  of  all  variety  by  de- 
vouring every  book  he  could  lay  hands  on;  old 
plays,  old  ballads,  and  many  a strange  volume 
picked  up  at  old  book-stalls  in  his  walks  between 
Chelsea  and  King’s  College.  Percy’s  “ Reliques,” 
Southey,  Shelley  and  Coleridge’s  poetry  he  knew 
by  heart.  His  love  for  Wordsworth  developed 
later;  but  from  first  to  last  Sir  Thomas  Malory’s 
“ Morte  d’Arthur,”  and  Spenser’s  “ Faerie  Queene,” 
were  among  his  most  beloved  books.  Spenser  was 
more  dear  to  him  than  even  Shakespeare,  and  in 
later  life,  when  his  brain  needed  rest  and  refresh- 
ment, especially  on  Sunday  evenings,  he  would 
turn  instinctively  to  Spenser.  He  was  always  a 
good  French  scholar,  and  at  sixteen  he  knew 
enough  German  to  make  a translation  of  Krum- 
macher’s  “John  the  Baptist”  for  the  Religious 
Tract  Society.  Of  his  first  return  to  Clovelly,  in 
1838,  he  writes  to  his  mother: 

“Though  I have  not  written  to  you  I have  not  for- 
gotten you.  . . And  to  prove  my  remembrance  of 

you,  I am  reading  my  Bible  and  my  Paley,  and  my 
mathematics  steadily,  and  am  learning  poetry  by  heart. 
And,  moreover,  I am  keeping  a journal  full  of  thoughts 
and  meditations  and  prose  poetry , for  I am  not  alone 
enough  to  indite  verses  — as  I have  not  had  any  walks 
by  myself.  However,  I hope  that  the  fine  weather  (which 
now  appears  to  be  returning)  will  draw  out  my  poetical 
thoughts  again.  I am  exceedingly  well  here  — quite  a 
different  being  since  I came.  . . . The  dear  old  place 
looks  quite  natural,  and  yet  somehow  it  is  like  a dream 
when  I think  of  the  total  revulsion  that  two  days’  journey 


24  Charles  Kingsley 

has  made  in  me,  and  how  I seem  like  some  spirit  in  the 
metempsychosis  which  has  suddenly  passed  back,  out  of 
a new  life,  into  one  which  it  bore  long  ago,  and  has 
recovered,  in  one  moment,  all  its  old  ties,  its  old  feelings, 
its  old  friends  and  pleasures ! O that  you  were  but  here 
to  see,  and  to  share  the  delight  of  your  affectionate  son, 


“C.  Kingsley.” 


CHAPTER  II 


1838-42 
Aged  19-23 

Cambridge  — Visit  to  Oxfordshire  — A Turning  Point 
in  Life  — Undergraduate  Days  — Decides  to  take 
Orders  — Correspondence  — Takes  his  Degree. 

As  when  with  downcast  eyes  we  muse  and  brood, 

And  ebb  into  a former  life,  or  seem 
To  lapse  far  back  in  some  confused  dream 
To  states  of  mystical  similitude  ; 

If  one  but  speaks  or  hems  or  stirs  his  chair, 

Ever  the  wonder  waxeth  more  and  more, 

So  that  we  say,  “ All  this  has  been  before ; 

All  this  hath  been,  I know  not  when  or  where.” 

So,  friend,  when  first  I look’d  upon  your  face, 

Our  thought  gave  answer  each  to  each,  so  true  — 

Opposed  mirrors  each  reflecting  each  — 

That  tho’  I knew  not  in  what  time  or  place, 

Methought  that  I had  often  met  with  you, 

And  either  lived  in  either’s  heart  and  speech. 

Tennyson  (Early  Sonnets). 

IN  the  autumn  of  1838  Charles  Kingsley  left 
King’s  College,  London,  and  went  up  to 
Magdalene  College,  Cambridge,  where  he  soon 
gained  a scholarship,  being  first  in  his  year  in 
the  May  Examinations,  and  thence  in  the  joy  of 
his  heart  he  writes  home: 

May  31,  1839.  — “ You  will  be  delighted  to  hear  that 
I am  first  in  classics  and  mathematics  also,  at  the  exam- 
inations, which  has  not  happened  in  the  College  for  sev- 
eral years.  I shall  bring  home  prizes,  and  a very  decent 


26  Charles  Kingsley 

portion  of  honor  — the  King’s  College  men  are  all  de- 
lighted. I am  going  to  stay  up  here  a few  days  longer  if 
you  will  let  me.  Mr  Wand  has  offered  to  help  me  with 
my  second  year's  subjects,  so  I shall  read  conic  sections 
and  the  spherical  trigonometry  very  hard  while  I am  here. 
I know  you  and  mama  will  be  glad  to  hear  of  my  success, 
so  you  must  pardon  the  wildness  of  my  letter,  for  I am  so 
happy,  I hardly  know  what  to  say.  You  know  I am  not 
accustomed  to  be  successful.  I am  going  to-day  to  a 
great  fishing  party  at  Sir  Charles  Wale’s,  at  Shelford.” 

The  prize-book  he  chose  was  a fine  edition  of 
Plato. 

He  made  many  friends  in  the  University  who 
took  delight  in  his  society,  some  for  his  wit  and 
humor,  others  for  his  sympathy  on  subjects  of 
art,  and  deeper  matters.  “ He  was  very  popular,” 
writes  an  intimate  friend,  “ amongst  all  classes  of 
his  companions ; he  mixed  freely  with  all,  the  stu- 
dious, the  idle,  the  clever,  and  the  reverse,  a most 
agreeable  companion,  full  of  information  of  all 
kinds,  and  abounding  in  conversation.  Whatever 
he  engaged  in,  he  threw  his  whole  energy  into ; 
he  read  hard  at  times,  but  enjoyed  sports  of  all 
kinds,  fishing,  shooting,  riding,  and  cards.”  Pie  was 
soon  in  the  Magdalene  boat,  which  was  in  that  year 
high  on  the  river.  A letter  from  the  Rev.  E.  Pit- 
cairn Campbell,  recalls  their  undergraduate  life. 

“ We  happened  to  be  sitting  together  one  night  on  the 
top  of  one  of  those  coaches  which  in  our  time  were  sub- 
scribed for  by  a number  of  men,  ios.  or  £ i each,  for 
various  expeditions  into  the  Fens  — for  instance,  when 
Whittlesea  lay  broadly  under  water  — Sir  Colman  Rash- 
leigh,  the  Dykes  of  Cornwall,  or  other  driving  men  taking 
the  management,  wearing  wonderful  coats  and  hats,  and 
providing  the  horses.  I remember  the  drive  very  well. 


Cambridge  27 

The  moon  was  high,  and  the  air  was  frosty,  and  we  talked 
about  sport  and  natural  history.  At  last  we  got  upon 
fishing,  and  I invited  him  to  come  to  my  rooms  to  view 
some  very  superior  tackle.  He  came  at  once,  inviting 
me  to  join  him  in  some  of  his  haunts  up  the  Granta  and 
the  Cam,  where  he  had  friends  dwelling,  and  hospitable 
houses  open  to  him.  I never  shall  forget  our  first  ex- 
pedition. I was  to  call  him,  and  for  this  purpose  I had 
to  climb  over  the  wall  of  Magdalene  College.  This  I did 
at  2 a.m.,  and  about  3 we  were  both  climbing  back  into 
the  stonemason’s  yard,  and  off  through  Trumpington,  in 
pouring  rain  all  the  way,  nine  miles  to  Duxford.  We 
reached  about  6.30.  The  water  was  clouded  by  rain,  and 
I in  courtesy  to  him  yielded  my  heavier  rod  in  order  that 
he  might  try  the  lower  water  with  the  minnow.  He  was, 
however,  scarcely  out  of  sight,  before  I spied,  under  the 
alders,  some  glorious  trout  rising  to  caterpillars  dropping 
from  the  bushes.  ...  In  ten  minutes  I had  three  of 
these  fine  fellows  on  the  bank.  . . . This  performance 
set  me  up  in  his  opinion,  and  he  took  me  with  him  to 
Shelford,  where  I executed  the  feat  to  which  he  refers  in 
his  Chalk  Stream  Studies  (“  Prose  Idylls  ”).  Oh!  what 
pleasant  talk  was  his,  so  full  of  poetry  and  beauty  ! and, 
what  I admired  most,  such  boundless  information.  Be- 
sides these  expeditions  we  made  others  on  horseback, 
and  at  times  we  followed  the  great  Professor  Sedgwick  in 
his  adventurous  rides,  which  the  livery  stable-keepers  called 
jolly-gizing  ! 1 The  old  professor  was  generally  mounted 
on  a bony  giant,  whose  trot  kept  most  of  us  at  a hand-gal- 
lop. Gaunt  and  grim,  the  brave  old  Northern  man  seemed 
to  enjoy  the  fun  as  much  as  we  did  — his  was  not  a hunting 
seat  — neither  his  hands  nor  his  feet  ever  seemed  exactly 
in  the  right  place.  But  when  we  surrounded  him  at  the 
trysting-place,  even  the  silliest  among  us  acknowledged 
that  his  lectures  were  glorious.  It  is  too  true  that  our 

1 Professor  Sedgwick  gave  Geological  Field  Lectures  on  horse- 
back to  a class  in  the  neighborhood  of  Cambridge. 


28  Charles  Kingsley 

method  of  reaching  those  try  sting-places  was  not  legiti- 
mate, the  greater  number  preferring  the  field  to  the  road, 
so  that  the  unhappy  owners  of  the  horses  found  it  neces- 
sary to  charge  more  for  a day’s  jolly-gizing  than  they  did 
for  a day’s  hunting.  To  crown  our  sports,  we  have  now 
only  to  add  the  all-absorbing  boating.  ...” 

In  the  summer  of  1839  his  father  took  country 
duty  for  two  months  at  Ipsden,  in  Oxfordshire, 
and  settled  with  his  family  in  the  little  parsonage 
house.  On  the  6th  of  July,  Charles  (then  an  un- 
dergraduate) and  his  future  wife  met  for  the  first 
time.  “ That  was  my  real  wedding  day,”  he  said, 
some  fifteen  years  afterwards. 

He  was  then  full  of  religious  doubts ; and  his 
face,  with  its  unsatisfied,  hungering,  and  at  times 
defiant  look,  bore  witness  to  the  state  of  his  mind. 
It  had  a sad  longing  expression  too,  which  seemed 
to  say  that  he  had  all  his  life  been  looking  for  a 
sympathy  he  had  never  yet  found  — a rest  which 
he  never  would  attain  in  this  world.  His  peculiar 
character  had  not  been  understood  at  home, 
and  his  heart  had  been  half  asleep.  It  woke  up 
now,  never  to  sleep  again.  For  the  first  time  he 
could  speak  with  perfect  freedom,  and  be  met  with 
answering  sympathy;  and  gradually  as  the  new 
friendship  (which  yet  seemed  old  — from  the 
first  more  of  a recognition  than  an  acquaintance) 
deepened  into  intimacy,  every  doubt,  every  thought, 
every  failing,  was  laid  bare.  Counsel  was  asked 
and  given,  all  things  in  heaven  and  earth  dis- 
cussed ; and  as  new  hopes  dawned,  the  look  of 
hard  defiance  gave  way  to  a wonderful  tender- 
ness, and  a “ humility  more  irresistible  even  than 
his  eloquence,”  which  were  his  characteristics, 
with  those  who  understood  him,  to  his  dying  day. 


Oxfordshire  29 

The  Oxford  Tracts  had  lately  appeared,  and, 
while  discussing  them  from  the  merely  human  and 
not  the  religious  standpoint,  he  fiercely  denounced 
the  ascetic  view  of  the  most  sacred  ties  which  he 
foresaw  would  result  from  them  : his  keen  eye  de- 
tecting in  them  principles  which,  as  he  expressed 
years  afterwards  in  his  preface  to  “ Hypatia,” 
must,  if  once  adopted,  “ sap  the  very  foundation 
of  the  two  divine  roots  of  the  Church,  the  ideas  of 
family  and  national  life.” 

He  was  just  like  his  own  Lancelot  in  “ Yeast,” 
in  that  summer  of  1839 — a bold  thinker,  a hard 
rider,  a “ most  chivalrous  gentleman”  — sad,  shy, 
and  serious  habitually;  in  conversation  at  one 
moment  brilliant  and  impassioned — the  next  re- 
served and  unapproachable  — by  turns  attracting 
and  repelling:  but  pouring  forth  to  the  one  friend 
whom  he  could  trust,  stores  of  thought  and  feeling 
and  information,  which  seemed  boundless,  on  every 
sort  of  unexpected  subject.  It  was  a feast  for  any 
imagination  and  intellect  to  hold  communion  with 
Charles  Kingsley  even  at  the  age  of  twenty.  The 
originality  with  which  he  treated  every  subject  was 
startling,  and  his  genius  lit  up  each  object  it  ap- 
proached, whether  he  spoke  of  “ the  delicious 
shiver  of  those  aspen  leaves,”  on  the  nearest  tree, 
or  of  the  deepest  laws  of  humanity  and  the  contro- 
versies of  the  day.  Of  that  intercourse  truly 
might  these  friends  each  say  with  Goethe  — a For 
the  first  time,  I may  well  say,  I carried  on  a con- 
versation ; for  the  first  time,  was  the  inmost  sense  of 
my  words  returned  to  me,  more  rich,  more  full,  more 
comprehensive  from  another’s  mouth.  What  I had 
been  groping  for,  was  rendered  clear  to  me ; what 
I had  been  thinking,  I was  taught  to  see.  . . 


30  Charles  Kingsley 

Two  months  of  such  communion  passed  away 
only  too  quickly,  and  though  from  this  time  for 
the  next  four  years  and  a half,  the  two  friends  met 
but  seldom,  and  corresponded  at  rare  intervals,  a 
new  life  had  dawned  for  both,  which  neither  ab- 
sence nor  sorrow,  nor  adverse  circumstances,  their 
own  difference  of  religious  opinions,  or  the  oppo- 
sition of  their  relations,  could  extinguish.  Before 
he  left  Oxfordshire,  he  was  so  far  shaken  in  his 
doubts,  that  he  promised  to  read  his  Bible  once 
more  — to  pray  — to  open  his  heart  to  the  Light, 
if  the  Light  would  but  come.  All,  however,  was 
dark  for  a time,  and  the  conflict  between  faith  and 
unbelief,  and  between  hopes  and  fears  was  so  fierce 
and  bitter,  that  when  he  returned  to  Cambridge,  he 
became  reckless,  and  nearly  gave  up  all  for  lost : 
he  read  little,  went  in  for  excitement  of  every  kind 
— boating,  hunting,  driving,  fencing,  boxing,  duck- 
shooting in  the  Fens,  — anything  to  deaden  the 
remembrance  of  the  happy  past,  which  just  then 
promised  no  future.  But  through  all,  God  kept 
him  in  those  dark  days  for  a work  he  little  dreamed 
of.  More  than  once  he  had  nearly  resolved,  if  his 
earthly  hopes  were  crushed,  to  leave  Cambridge 
and  go  out  to  the  Far  West  to  live  as  a wild  prairie 
hunter ; to  this  he  refers  when  for  the  first  time  he 
found  himself  on  the  prairies  of  America  on  May 
ii,  1874. 

“We  are  at  Omaha  !”  he  wrote  home,  “and  opposite 
to  us  is  Council  Bluffs  ! ! Thirty  years  ago  the  palaver- 
ing ground  of  trappers  and  Indians  (now  all  gone),  and 
to  that  very  spot,  which  I had  known  of  from  a boy,  and 
all  about  it,  I meant  to  go  as  soon  as  I took  my  degree, 
if,  . . . and  throw  myself  into  the  wild  life,  to  sink  or 
swim,  escaping  from  a civilization  which  only  tempted  me 


A Turning  Point  31 

and  maddened  me  with  the  envy  of  a poor  man  ! Oh  ! 
how  good  God  has  been  to  me.  Oh ! how  when  I saw 
those  Bluffs  yesterday  morning  I thanked  God  for  you, 
for  everything,  and  stared  at  them  till  I cried.  . . 

Many  years  later,  when  Rector  of  Eversley,  he 
says,  in  speaking  of  this  period  to  a stranger  who 
made  full  confession  to  him  about  his  own  doubts 
and  difficulties,  “Your  experiences  interested  me 
deeply,  and  confirm  my  own.  An  atheist  I never 
was ; but  in  my  early  life  I wandered  through 
many  doubts  and  vain  attempts  to  explain  to  my- 
self the  riddle  of  life  and  this  world,  till  I found 
that  no  explanation  was  so  complete  as  the  one 
which  one  had  learnt  at  one's  mother's  knee. 
Complete  nothing  can  be  on  this  side  of  the 
grave,  of  which  St.  Paul  himself  said,  that  he 
only  saw  through  a glass  darkly;  but  complete 
enough  to  give  comfort  to  the  weary  hearts  of  my 
poor  laboring  folk,  and  to  mine  also,  which  is 
weary  enough  at  times.  . . 

As  time  went  on  his  theological  difficulties  about 
the  Trinity  and  other  Christian  doctrines  increased. 
He  revolted  from  what  seemed  to  him  then,  to  use 
his  own  words,  the  “ bigotry,  cruelty,  and  quibbling," 
of  the  Athanasian  Creed,  that  very  Creed  which  in 
after  years  was  his  stronghold ; and  he  had  little 
faith  in  the  clergy  with  whom  he  came  in  contact. 

“ From  very  insufficient  and  ambiguous  grounds  in  the 
Bible,  they  seem  unjustifiably  to  have  built  up  a huge 
superstructure,  whose  details  they  have  filled  in  accord- 
ing to  their  own  fancies,  or  alas  ! too  often  according  to 
their  own  interest.  ...  Do  not  be  angry.  I know  I 
cannot  shake  you,  and  I think  you  will  find  nothing  flip- 
pant or  bitter  — no  vein  of  noisy  and  shallow  blasphemy 


32  Charles  Kingsley 

in  my  doubts.  I feel  solemn  and  sad  on  the  subject.  If 
the  philosophers  of  old  were  right,  and  if  I am  right  in  my 
religion,  alas ! for  Christendom!  and  if  I am  wrong,  alas  ! 
for  myself  ! It  is  a subject  on  which  I cannot  jest.  ...  I 
will  write  soon  and  tell  you  some  of  my  temptations.  . . ” 
December , 1840.  — “ You  cannot  conceive  the  mo- 
ments of  self-abasement  and  self-shame  I have.  . . . 
My  own  philosophy  and  the  wisdom  of  the  heathens  of 
old,  hold  out  no  other  mode  of  retracing  my  steps  than 
the  thorny  road  of  tears  and  repentance  which  the  Chris- 
tian belief  acknowledges.  But  you  believe  that  you  have 
a sustaining  Hand  to  guide  you  along  that  path,  an  In- 
vincible Protector  and  an  unerring  Guide.  I,  alas  ! have 
no  stay  for  my  weary  steps,  but  that  same  abused  and 
stupefied  reason  which  has  stumbled  and  wandered,  and 
betrayed  me  a thousand  times  ere  now,  and  is  every  mo- 
ment ready  to  faint  and  to  give  up  the  unequal  struggle. 
I am  swimming  against  a mighty  stream,  and  I feel  every 
moment  I must  drop  my  arms,  and  float  in  apathy  over 
the  hurrying  cataract,  which  I see  and  hear,  but  have  not 
spirit  to  avoid.  Man  does  want  something  more  than  his 
reason ! Socrates  confessed  that  he  owed  all  to  his 
daemon,  and  that  without  his  supernatural  intimations, 
right  and  wrong,  the  useful  and  the  hurtful  were  envel- 
oped in  mist,  and  that  he  alone  smoothed  to  him  the 
unapproachable  heights  which  conducted  to  the  beautiful 
and  the  good.  So  he  felt ; but  I have  no  spiritual  Guide. 
I am  told  that  before  I can  avail  myself  of  the  benevo- 
lence of  Him  in  whom  you  trust,  I must  believe  in  His 
Godhead  and  His  Omnipotence.  I do  not  do  this. 
And  it  is  a subject  on  which  I cannot  pray.  . . 

January , 1841.  — u.  . . I have  an  instinctive,  per- 
haps a foolish  fear,  of  anything  like  the  use  of  religious 
phraseology,  because  I am  sure  that  if  these  expressions 
were  used  by  any  one,  placed  as  I now  am,  to  me,  I should 
doubt  the  writer’s  sincerity.  I find  that  if  I allow  myself 
ever  to  use,  even  to  my  own  heart,  those  vague  and  trite 


A Turning  Point  33 

expressions,  which  are  generally  used  as  the  watchwords 
of  religion,  their  familiarity  makes  me  careless,  or  rather 
dull  to  their  sense,  their  specious  glibness  hurrying  me  on 
in  a mass  of  language,  of  whose  precise  import  I have  no 
vital  knowledge.  This  is  their  effect  on  me.  We  know 
too  well  what  it  often  is  on  others.  Believe,  then,  every 
word  I write  as  the  painful  expression  of  new  ideas  and 
feelings  in  a mind  unprejudiced  by  conventionality  in 
language,  or  (I  hope)  in  thought  ...  I ask  this  be- 
cause I am  afraid  of  the  very  suspicion  of  talking  myself 
into  a fanciful  conversion.  I see  people  do  this  often, 
and  I see  them  fall  back  again.  And  this,  perhaps,  keeps 
me  in  terror  lest  I should  have  merely  mistaken  the  emo- 
tions of  a few  passionate  moments  for  the  calm  convic- 
tions which  are  to  guide  me  through  eternity.  . . 
Some  day  I must  tell  you  of  the  dreamy  days  of  boy- 
hood, when  I knew  and  worshipped  nothing  but  the  phys- 
ical ; when  my  enjoyment  was  drawn  not  from  the  kind' 
ness  of  those  around,  or  from  the  consciousness  of  good, 
or  from  the  intercourse  of  mankind,  but  from  the  semi- 
sensual  delights  of  ear  and  eye,  from  sun  and  stars,  wood 
and  wave,  the  beautiful  inanimate  in  all  its  forms.  On 
the  unexpressed  and  incomprehensible  emotions  which 
these  raised,  on  strange  dilatation  and  excitement,  and 
often  strange  tenderness  and  tears  without  object,  was  my 
boyhood  fed.  Moral  sense  I had  not  so  strongly  as  men 
o {great  minds  have.  And  above  all,  I felt  no  allegiance 
to  the  dispensation  of  fear,  either  from  man  or  more 
than  man.  Present  enjoyment,  present  profit,  brought 
always  to  me  a recklessness  of  moral  consequences,  which 
has  been  my  bane.  ...  I should  tell  you  next,  how  the 
beauty  of  the  animate  and  the  human  began  to  attract 
me,  and  how  after  lonely  wanderings  and  dreamings,  and 
contemplation  of  every  work  of  art,  and  every  specimen 
of  life  which  fed  me  with  the  elements  of  beauty,  the 
Ideal  began  to  expand,  dim  but  glorious,  before  my  boy- 
ish eyes.  I would  tell  you  how  I paused  on  that  height 
vol.  1.  — 3 


34  Charles  Kingsley 

awhile,  nor  thought  that  beyond  there  lay  another  Ideal 
— the  reflected  image  of  God’s  mind ; but  that  was 
reserved  for  a later  period.  Here  I sought  happiness 
awhile,  but  was  still  unsatisfied. 

“ I have  not  much  time  for  poetry,1  as  I am  reading 
steadily.  How  I envy,  as  a boy,  a woman’s  life  at  the 
corresponding  age  — so  free  from  mental  control,  as  to 
the  subjects  of  thought  and  reading  — so  subjected  to  it, 
as  to  the  manner  and  the  tone.  We,  on  the  other  hand, 
are  forced  to  drudge  at  the  acquirement  of  confessedly 
obsolete  and  useless  knowledge,  of  worn-out  philosophies, 
and  scientific  theories  long  exploded  — and,  at  last,  to 
find  every  woman  who  has  made  even  a moderate  use  of 
her  time,  far  beyond  us  in  true  philosophy.  I wish  I 
were  free  from  this  university  system,  and  free  to  follow 
such  a course  of  education  as  Socrates,  and  Bacon,  and 
More,  and  Milton  have  sketched  out.  . . 2 

1 The  only  poems  of  this  date  were  “Twin  Stars,”  and 
“ Palinodia.” 

2 It  is  but  fair  to  him  to  say  that  in  after  years  his  riper  judg- 
ment made  him  more  just  to  his  University  and  her  course  of 
studies,  and  in  the  preface  to  his  Alexandrian  Lectures,  he  speaks 
of  what  he  owes  to  his  Alma  Mater.  “ In  the  hey-day  of  youth- 
ful greediness  and  ambition,  when  the  mind,  dazzled  by  the  vast- 
ness and  variety  of  the  universe,  must  needs  know  everything,  or 
rather  know  about  everything,  at  once  and  on  the  spot,  too  many 
are  apt,  as  I have  been  in  past  years,  to  complain  of  Cambridge 
studies,  as  too  dry  and  narrow : but  as  time  teaches  the  student, 
year  by  year,  what  is  really  required  for  an  understanding  of  the 
objects  with  which  he  meets,  he  begins  to  find  that  his  university, 
in  as  far  as  he  has  really  received  her  teaching  into  himself,  has 
given  him,  in  her  criticism,  her  mathematics,  above  all  in  Plato, 
something  which  all  the  popular  knowledge,  the  lectures,  and  in- 
stitutions of  the  day,  and  even  good  books  themselves,  cannot 
give,  a boon  more  precious  than  learning,  namely,  the  art  of  learn- 
ing. That,  instead  of  casting  into  his  lazy  lap  treasures  which  he 
would  not  have  known  how  to  use,  she  has  taught  him  to  mine  for 
himself ; and  has,  by  her  wise  refusal  to  gratify  his  intellectual 
greediness,  excited  his  hunger,  only  that  he  may  be  the  stronger  to 


Undergraduate  Days  35 


Cambridge:  February,  1841. — “l  strive  daily  and 
hourly  to  be  calm.  Every  few  minutes  to  stop  myself 
forcibly,  and  recall  my  mind  to  a sense  of  where  I am  — 
where  I am  going  — and  whither  I ought  to  be  tending. 
This  is  most  painful  discipline,  but  wholesome,  and  much 
as  I dread  to  look  inward,  I force  myself  to  it  con- 
tinually. ...  I am  reading  seven  to  eight  hours  a day. 
I have  refused  hunting  and  driving.  My  trial  of  this  new 
mode  of  life  has  been  short,  but  to ' have  begun  it  is  the 
greatest  difficulty.  There  is  still  much  more  to  be  done, 
and  there  are  more  pure  and  unworldly  motives  of 
improvement,  but  actions  will  pave  the  way  for  motives, 
almost  as  much  as  motives  do  for  actions.  . . . You 
cannot  understand  the  excitement  of  animal  exercise 
from  the  mere  act  of  cutting  wood  or  playing  cricket  to 
the  manias  of  hunting  or  shooting  or  fishing.  On  these 
things  more  or  less  most  young  men  live.  Every 
moment  which  is  taken  from  them  for  duty  or  for  reading 
is  felt  to  be  lost  — to  be  so  much  time  sacrificed  to  hard 
circumstance.  And  even  those  who  have  calmed  from 
age,  or  from  the  necessity  of  attention  to  a profession, 
which  has  become  custom,  have  the  same  feelings  flowing 
as  an  undercurrent  in  their  minds  ; and,  if  they  had  not, 
they  would  neither  think  nor  act  like  men.  They  might 
be  pure  and  good  and  kind,  but  they  would  need  that 
stern  and  determined  activity,  without  which  a man  can- 
not act  in  an  extended  sphere  either  for  his  own  good,  or 
for  that  of  his  fellow-creatures.  When  I talk,  then,  of 
excitement,  I do  not  wish  to  destroy  excitability,  but  to 

hunt  and  till  for  his  own  subsistence ; and  thus,  the  deeper  he 
drinks,  in  after  years,  at  fountains  wisely  forbidden  to  him  while 
he  was  a Cambridge  student,  and  sees  his  old  companions  grow- 
ing up  into  sound-headed  and  sound-hearted  practical  men,  liberal 
and  expansive,  and  yet  with  a firm  standing  ground  for  thought 
and  action,  he  learns  to  complain  less  and  less  of  Cambridge 
studies,  and  more  and  more  of  that  conceit  and  haste  of  his  own, 
which  kept  him  from  reaping  the  full  advantages  of  her  training.” 
— Alexandria  and  her  Schools.  Four  lectures,  delivered  at 
Edinburgh. 


36  Charles  Kingsley 


direct  it  into  the  proper  channel,  and  to  bring  it  under 
subjection.  I have  been  reading  Plato  on  this  very  sub- 
ject, and  you  would  be  charmed  with  his  ideas.  ...  Of 
the  existence  of  this  quality  there  can  be  no  doubt,  and 
you  must  remember  the  peculiar  trial  which  this  ” (allud- 
ing to  the  necessity  for  hard  reading  and  giving  up  all 
amusement  for  the  time  being)  “ proves,  to  a young  man 
whose  superfluous  excitement  has  to  be  broken  in  like 
that  of  a dog  or  a horse  — for  it  is  utterly  animal.  . . . 


/: ;W tbs* ..i^r--As  for  my  degree,  I can  yet  take  high  honors  in  the 
fy  , .r  University,  and  get  my  fellowship.  ...  I forgot  to  thank 
you  for  the  books.  I am  utterly  delighted  with  them.  ” 

S «.  fy  £*  / ' 


The  books  referred  to  were  Carlyle's  works, 
and  Coleridge's  “ Aids  to  Reflection."  Carlyle's 
“ French  Revolution,"  sent  previously  by  the  same 
friend,  had  had  a remarkable  effect  on  his  mind 
before  he  decided  upon  taking  holy  orders,  in 
establishing  and  intensifying  his  belief  in  God's 
righteous  government  of  the  world.  The  Mis- 
cellanies," and  “ Past  and  Present,"  placed  him 
under  a still  deeper  debt  to  Mr.  Carlyle,  whom  he 
spoke  of  as  “ that  old  Hebrew  prophet,  who  goes 
to  prince  and  beggar  and  says,  ‘ If  you  do  this  or 
that,  you  shall  go  to  Hell ' — not  the  hell  that 
priests  talk  of,  but  a hell  on  this  earth." 


During  the  spring  of  this  year  he  decided  on 
the  Church  as  his  profession  instead  of  the  law. 
His  name  had  been  down  at  Lincoln’s-inn : but  a 
great  change  had  passed  over  him,  and  thus  he 
speaks  of  it: 


“ I repent,  no  resolution  which  I have  made  — because 
my  determination  was  not  the  sudden  impulse  of  a 
moment  — but  the  expansion  into  clear  certainty  of  plans 
which  have  been  most  strangely  rising  up  before  me  for 


To  Take  Orders 


37 

many  months.  Day  after  day  there  has  been  an  involun- 
tary still  small  voice  directing  me  to  the  Church,  as  the 
only  rest  for  my  troubled  spirit  in  this  world  or  the 
next.  ...  I am  under  a heavy  debt  to  God  . . . how 
can  I better  strive  to  pay  it  than  by  devoting  myself  to 
the  religion  which  I have  scorned,  and  becoming  a 
preacher  of  purity  and  holiness  — a determined  and  dis- 
interested upholder  of  the  only  true  and  perfect  system, 
the  Church  of  Christ.  The  time  passed  lately  in  sor- 
row . . . has  produced  a most  powerful  and  vivid 
change  in  my  every  thought,  feeling,  and  intention.  I 
believe  and  I pray.  Can  I be  what  I was  ? . . . Every- 
thing I do,  in  my  studies,  in  my  plans,  in  my  actions  is 
now  and  shall  be  done  in  reference  first  to  God  . . . 
and  neither  fame  or  vanity,  or  excitement  of  any  kind 
shall  (if  prayers  will  avail,  as  I know  they  will,)  turn  me 
away  from  the  steady  looking  forward  to  this  end.  . . .” 

May , 1841.  — “ My  only  reasons  for  working  for  a 
degree  are  that  I may  enter  the  world  with  a certain 
prestige  which  may  get  me  a living  sooner.  . . . Several 
of  my  intimate  friends  here,  strange  to  say,  are  going  into 
the  Church,  so  that  our  rooms,  when  we  are  not  reading, 
are  full  of  clerical  conversation.  One  of  my  friends  goes 
up  for  ordination  next  week.  How  I envy  him  his 
change  of  life.  I feel  as  if,  once  in  the  Church,  I could 
cling  so  much  closer  to  God.  I feel  more  and  more 
daily  that  a clergyman’s  life  is  the  one  for  which  both  my 
physique  and  morale  were  intended  — that  the  profession 
will  check  and  guide  the  faulty  parts  of  my  mind,  while  it 
gives  full  room  for  my  energy  — that  energy  which  had 
so  nearly  ruined  me ; but  will  now  be  devoted  utterly,  I 
hope,  to  the  service  of  God.  My  Views  of  theoretical 
religion  are  getting  more  clear  daily,  as  I feel  more  com- 
pletely the  necessity  of  faith.  . . 

June  12,  1841.  — “My  birth-night.  I have  been  for 
the  last  hour  on  the  sea-shore,  not  dreaming,  but  think- 
ing deeply  and  strongly,  and  forming  determinations 


38  Charles  Kingsley 

which  are  to  affect  my  destiny  through  time  and  through 
eternity.  Before  the  sleeping  earth  and  the  sleepless  sea 
and  stars  I have  devoted  myself  to  God ; a vow  never  (if 
He  gives  me  the  faith  I pray  for)  to  be  recalled.  . . 

To  his  mother  he  writes  from  Cambridge: 

June,  1841.  — “I  have  been  reading  the  Edinburgh 
Review  (April,  1841),  on  No.  90  of  the  Tracts  for  the 
Times,  and  I wish  I could  transcribe  every  word,  and 
send  it  to  * # * Whether  wilful  or  self-deceived,  these 

men  are  Jesuits,  taking  the  oath  to  the  Articles  with 
moral  reservations  which  allow  them  to  explain  them 
away  in  senses  utterly  different  from  those  of  their 
authors.  All  the  worst  doctrinal  features  of  Popery  Mr. 
Newman  professes  to  believe  in.  God  bless  you,  dearest 
mother.  I feel  very  happy,  and  very  much  inclined  to  what 
is  good  — more  so,  perhaps,  and  more  calmly  so,  than  I 
ever  felt  before.  God  grant  that  this  may  last.  I saw  Bate- 
son to-day,  and  settled  with  him  as  to  hours,  &c.  . . .” 

“ . . . I send  you  my  Sunday  evening  letter,  as  a re- 
fresher to  my  own  mind  as  well  as  yours.  I am  now  set- 
tled to  reading  for  the  next  five  weeks.  . . .” 

October , 1841.  — “I  am  going  to  try  what  keeping 
every  chapel  will  do  to  my  mind.  I am  sure  it  ought  to 
sober  and  quiet  it.  I now  really  feel  the  daily  chapels  a 
refreshment,  instead  of  an  useless  and  antiquated  restraint, 
as  I used  to  consider  them.  I spent  Thursday  at  Shel- 
ford.  I had  great  fun.  Tell  papa  I hooked  a trout  so 
large  that  I was  three-quarters  of  an  hour  playing  him,  and 
that  he  grubbed  the  hook  out  of  his  mouth  after  all.  Of 
course  he  will  say  that  I was  a clumsy  fellow,  but  this 
brute  would  have  puzzled  the  ghost  of  Izaak  Walton. 

“ Do  not,  dearest  mother,  make  yourself  unhappy 
about  * * * * and  me.  I am  young  and  strong  . . . and 
she  will  be  strong  too.  Have  no  fears  for  us  — we  can 
wait,  and  endure,  and  dare,  and  be  happy  beyond  the 
grave,  if  not  on  this  side.” 


Correspondence  39 

January,  1842.  — “ My  degree  hangs  over  my  thoughts 
like  a vast  incubus  keeping  me  down,  and  every  moment 
which  is  not  devoted  to  my  foolish  studies,  seems  wasted. 
Alas ! that  it  should  be  so ! but  I can  endure  another 
month,  and  then  feel  myself  at  last  free.  . . . Send  down 
to  Holne  and  make  all  requisite  inquiries,  for  I wish  for 
the  ‘ Far  West  ’ as  soon  as  the  leaves  begin  to  show.  My 
lodgings  in  Devonshire  ought  not  to  cost  much.  It  will 
be  like  a second  childhood,  a fresh  spring  in  my  life,  for 
I felt  very  wintry  till  lately.  I feel  deeply  what  Manfred 
says  of  ‘an  order 

‘ Of  mortals  on  the  earth,  who  do  become 
Old  in  their  youth,  and  die  ere  middle  age, 

Some  perishing  of  pleasure  — some  of  study  — 

Some  worn  with  toil  — some  of  mere  weariness  — 
And  some  of  wither’d,  or  of  broken  hearts.’ 

“ I feel  that  if  I had  not  one  hope,  I were  one  of  those 

— my  heart  is  much  older  than  my  years  — I feel  that 
within,  which  makes  me  far  more  happy,  or  more  miser- 
able than  those  around  me,  but  all  of  it  belonging  to  a 
much  later  age  than  mine  — I shall  be  an  old  man  before 
I am  forty  — thank  God  for  it  ! . . . My  heart  is  very  full, 
I am  rather  lonely,  but  it  is  foolish  to  droop  in  my  prison, 
when  liberty  will  so  soon  be  here.  God  bless  you  and 
* * # *,  and  if  you  rejoice  that  you  have  borne  a man  into 
the  world,  remember  that  he  is  not  one  like  common  men 

— neither  cleverer  nor  wiser,  nor  better  than  the  multitude, 
but  utterly  different  from  them  in  heart  and  mind  — legis- 
late for  him  accordingly. 

“ Your  own  boy, 

“C.  Kingsley.’ 1 

While  at  College  his  physical  strength  was  great. 
He  walked  one  day  from  Cambridge  to  London, 
fifty-two  miles,  starting  early  and  arriving  in  Lon- 
don at  9 P.  M.,  with  ease.  For  many  years  after- 
wards, a walk  of  twenty  to  twenty-five  miles  a day 


40  Charles  Kingsley 

was  simply  a refreshment  to  him  ; and  during  ex- 
amination time  he  says : 

“ I have  walked  ten  miles  down  the  Cam  to-day  and 
back,  pike  fishing.  My  panacea  for  stupidity  and  ‘ over- 
mentation ’ is  a day  in  a roaring  Fen  wind.” 

In  February  he  went  in  for  his  examination,  and 
while  it  was  going  on  writes  to  an  Oxford  friend 
who  was  in  danger  of  losing  high  honors  from 
overwork : 

February  6,  1842.  — “.  . . I am  miserable  when  I 
think  that  you  are  wearing  out  mind  and  body  by  the 
over-exertion  which  I hear  you  are  using  for  your  degree. 
Are  you  not  disquieting  yourself  after  a vain  shadow'  ? 
. . . Remember  that  your  talents  are  a loan  from  God, 
which  must  not  be  abused  by  over-exercise,  and  that  it  is 
a sin  to  do  anything  now,  which  shall  make  you  hereafter 
less  able  to  exert  yourself.  If  you  are  now  led  away  by 
the  ambition  of  the  moment  to  propter  vitam  vivendi 
perdere  causas  can  you  justify  yourself  to  your  own 
heart?  Remember  that  discipline  is  not  education,  only 
the  preparation  for  it,  and  that  your  university  studies  are 
only  useful  so  far  as  they  strengthen  your  mind  to  learn, 
judge,  and  systematize  for  itself  after  you  leave  college.” 

February  13.  — “ . . . As  to  your  degree,  leave  it  in 
God’s  hands.  ...  You  have  been,  I fear,  too  much 
accustomed  to  consider  university  honors  as  the  end 
and  aim  of  a man’s  life,  instead  of  seeing  in  them  a mere 
trial  for  studies  higher  and  severer,  as  well  as  more 
beneficial  for  the  science  of  unfolding  the  great  mystery 
of  our  being,  the  iroOev  kcu  7tol  of  our  wonderful  humanity, 
for  the  inquiry  into  the  duties  and  the  capabilities  of 
mankind,  and  its  application  to  their  and  our  own  per- 
fection. A discipline  which  shall  enable  us  hereafter  to 
make  ourselves  and  all  around  us,  wiser,  better,  and 
happier.  This  is  the  object  of,  or,  rather,  the  only  good 


Takes  His  Degree  41 

to  be  derived  from  university  education ; and  if  your 
studies  have  any  other  aim,  they  are  useless  and  hurtful ; 
useless,  because  they  do  not  benefit  the  surrounding  mass 
of  mankind,  who  expect  from  you  not  the  mere  announce- 
ment of  your  having  taken  a first  class,  but  the  active  and 
practical  influence  of  your  wisdom  and  piety  in  guiding 
them  upwards,  and  smoothing  the  rugged  road  of  life  for 
them  ; hurtful,  because  they  turn  away  your  mind  to  their 
arbitrary  standard  of  excellence,  from  the  great  hope  — 
God  ; from  the  great  question  ‘ What  are  we,  and  why  are 
we  born?,  from  the  great  object  that  we  may  be  perfect 
even  as  our  Father  in  Heaven  is  perfect.  . . . Do  not 
imagine  that  I speak  without  sympathy  of  your  honor- 
able ambition ; I wish  to  see  it  more  worthily  directed. 
I have  felt  it  myself;  and  circumstances,  more  than  my 
own  reason,  have  weaned  me  from  it.  I have  been  toil- 
ing almost  as  hard  as  you,  and  in  fact  much  harder  than 
my  health  would  allow,  for  the  last  six  months.  . . . 
All  through  life,  I fear,  or  at  least,  all  through  youth,  age, 
and  perhaps  till  we  shake  off  the  earthly  husk,  we  must 
more  or  less  use  weapons  of  the  earth,  if  we  would  keep 
ourselves  in  the  station  in  which  alone  we  can  improve 
ourselves,  and  do  good ; but  these  weapons  should  be 
only  used  as  the  student  uses  bodily  exercise,  to  put  his 
animal  health  into  that  soundness  which  shall  enable 
him  completely  to  employ  his  mental  vigor.  . . . My 
degree,  I have  got  — i.  e .,  my  mathematical  one.  I 
came  out  to  my  great  astonishment,  and  that  of  my  tutor, 
a tolerable  second-class,  with  very  little  reading.  The 
classical  examination  comes  on  on  Monday,  and  whether 
I shall  get  my  first-class  or  not,  is  the  rub.  If  I do  not, 
I have  not  health  to  accuse  like  you,  but  previous  idleness 
in  my  second  and  first  year.  So  I shall  have  some  cause 
to  repine,  if  man  has  cause  to  repine  at  anything.  I read 
myself  ill  this  week,  and  have  been  ordered  to  shut  up  every 
book  till  the  examination,  and  in  fact  the  last  three  weeks 
in  which  I had  to  make  a rally  from  the  violent  exertion  of 


42  Charles  Kingsley 

the  mathematical  tripos,  have  been  spent  in  agonies  of 
pain  with  leeches  on  my  head  . . . just  when  I ought 
to  have  been  straining  every  nerve.  I was  very  fretful,  at 
first,  but  I have  now,  thank  God,  conquered  it,  and  for 
the  last  forty-eight  hours  not  thought  of  the  examination. 
I cannot  be  low,  I may  be  high.  ...  I am  going 
after  my  degree  to  read  divinity  for  five  months  (I  shall 
be  ordained,  I hope,  in  September,)  at  a place  called 
Holne,  in  Dartmoor,  Devon.  ...  I am  going  there 
to  recover  my  health,  not  my  spirits  — I defy  the  world 
to  break  them.  And  you  will  want  calm  and  relaxation 
after  your  labors.  . . . Come  down  to  see  me.  . . . 
Whether  you  will  despise  hard  beds  and  dimity  curtains, 
morning  baths  and  evening  trout-fishing,  mountain  mut- 
ton and  Devonshire  cream,  I do  not  know,  but  you  will 
not  despise  the  calm  of  a few  weeks  in  which  to  com- 
mune with  God  in  His  works,  and  to  strengthen  mind 
and  body  together,  before  you  again  commence  your 
labors ; for  remember  always,  toil  is  the  condition  of  our 
being . Our  sentence  is  to  labor  from  the  cradle  to  the 
grave.  But  there  are  Sabbaths  allowed  for  the  mind  as 
well  as  the  body,  when  the  intellect  is  stilled,  and  the 
emotions  alone  perform  their  gentle  and  involuntary 
functions,  and  to  such  a Sabbath  I will  lead  you  next 
summer. 99 

An  incident  which  occured  during  the  examina- 
tion, and  was  much  talked  of  at  the  time,  is  recalled 
by  Mr.  Kewley,  Rector  of  Baldock: 

“ On  one  morning  but  one  question  remained  of  a 
paper  on  mechanics,  ‘ Describe  a common  pump.’  Of 
the  internal  machinery  of  the  pump  Kingsley  was  un- 
able to  render  a scientific  account,  but  of  the  outside 
his  vivid  imagination  supplied  a picture  which  his  facile 
pencil  soon  transferred  to  paper.  Under  the  heading, 
6 Describe  a Pump/  he  drew  a grand  village  pump  in  the 
midst  of  a broad  green,  and  opposite  the  porch  of  an 


Takes  His  Degree  43 

ancient  church.  By  the  side  of  the  pump  stood,  in  all 
pomposity  of  his  office,  the  village  beadle,  with  uniform 
and  baton.  Around  were  women  and  children  of  all  ages, 
shapes,  dress,  and  sizes,  each  carrying  a crock,  a jug,  a 
bucket,  or  some  vessel  large  or  small.  These  were  drawn 
with  considerable  power,  and  the  whole  was  lighted  up 
with  his  deep  vein  of  humor;  while  around  the  pump 
itself  was  a huge  chain,  padlocked,  and  surrounded  by  a 
notice,  6 This  pump  locked  during  Divine  service/  This, 
Kingsley  sent  up  to  the  examiner  as  his  answer  to  the 
question.  I know  not  whether  he  got  any  marks  for  it ; 
but  it  was  so  clever  that  the  moderator  of  the  year  had  it 
framed  and  hung  up  on  the  wall  of  his  room.” 

Dr.  Bateson,  Master  of  St.  John's,  his  tutor 
much  beloved,  in  speaking  of  Charles  Kingsley's 
career,  says : 

“ I look  back  with  much  satisfaction,  and  shall  always 
reflect  with  pride  on  my  engagement  to  serve  him  in  the 
capacity  of  classical  private  tutor.  ...  It  is  too  true,  as 
no  one  lamented  more  than  himself,  that  from  various 
causes  he  made  but  an  indifferent  use  of  the  opportuni- 
ties which  his  residence  in  Cambridge  afforded  him,  at 
all  events  for  the  greater  part  of  the  time.  In  this  respect 
he  differs  little  from  many  of  the  men  of  poetic  genius 
who  have  been  undergraduates  at  our  universities. 
Whether  it  is  that  our  system  of  training  and  of  fre- 
quent examinations,  has  something  in  it  which  is  repul- 
sive and  uncongenial,  or  that  their  fervid  and  impulsive 
natures  are  unable  to  brook  the  restraints  of  our  discipline, 
certain  it  is  that  many  youths  of  most  brilliant  promise, 
who  have  lived  to  achieve  great  things  in  after  years,  have 
left  our  colleges  with  but  little  cause  to  congratulate  them- 
selves on  time  well  spent  or  talents  well  employed.  My 
own  relations  with  Charles  Kingsley  in  those  early  days 
were  always  agreeable,  although  I was  unable  to  induce 
him  to  apply  himself  with  any  energy  to  his  classical 


44  Charles  Kingsley 

work,  until  quite  the  close  of  his  undergraduate  career. 
Then  indeed,  he  seemed  an  altered  man.  With  wonder- 
ful ability  and  surprising  quickness  during  the  last  few 
months  he  made  rapid  strides,  and  I can  well  remember 
admiring  his  papers,  more  especially  those  of  Latin  prose 
and  verse,  which  he  sent  up  for  the  classical  tripos.  They 
exhibited  excellence  and  power,  due  far  more  to  native 
talent  than  to  industry  or  study,  and  raised  him  to  a place 
in  the  first  class  of  the  classical  tripos.  For  after  all  his 
degree  was  a good  one,  as  senior  optime  in  mathematics, 
and  a first  class  in  classics ; but  I must  add  that  it  was 
nothing  compared  to  what  might  have  been  attained  by  a 
man  of  his  powers.  If  he  had  worked  as  an  undergradu- 
ate with  only  a small  portion  of  the  industry  and  energy 
which  he  exhibited  after  he  left  Cambridge,  there  was  no 
academic  distinction  that  would  not  have  been  within  his 
reach/ 7 


CHAPTER  III 


1842-1843 
Aged  23-24 

Leaves  Cambridge  — Reads  for  Holy  Orders  — Extracts 
from  Letters  — Ordained  Deacon  — Curacy  of  Eversley 
— Parish  Work  — Parting  Words. 

“ Blessed  is  he  who  has  found  his  work ; let  him  ask  no  other 
blessedness.  He  has  a work,  a life  purpose ; he  has  found  it,  and 
will  follow  it ! ” 

Carlyle. 

“Nothing  is  sweeter  than  Love,  nothing  more  courageous, 
nothing  higher,  nothing  wider,  nothing  more  pleasant,  nothing 
fuller  nor  better  in  heaven  and  earth ; because  love  is  born  of 
God,  and  cannot  rest  but  in  God,  above  all  created  things. 

“ He  that  loveth  flieth,  runneth,  and  rejoiceth ; he  is  free  and 
not  bound.  He  giveth  all  for  all,  and  hath  all  in  all ; because  he 
resteth  in  One  Highest  above  things,  from  whom  all  that  is  good 
flows  and  proceeds.  Love  feels  no  burden,  thinks  nothing  of 
trouble,  attempts  what  is  above  its  strength,  pleads  no  excuse  of 
impossibility ; for  it  thinks  all  things  lawful  for  itself  and  all 
things  possible.  It  is  therefore  able  to  undertake  all  things,  and 
it  completes  many  things,  and  brings  them  to  a conclusion,  where 
he  who  does  not  love  faints  and  lies  down.  Love  watcheth,  and 
sleeping,  slumbereth  not.  Though  weary,  love  is  not  tired ; 
though  pressed,  it  is  not  straitened ; though  alarmed,  it  is  not 
confounded:  but  as  a lively  flame,  and  burning  torch,  it  forces  its 
way  upwards,  and  securely  passes  through  all.” 

Thomas  A Kempis.  Book  III.,  chap.  5. 

HE  left  Cambridge  in  February,  exhausted  in 
body  and  mind,  having  by  six  months'  des- 
perate reading  done  work  which  should  have 
spread  over  three  years.  While  studying  for  Holy 
Orders,  he  had  the  offer  of  two  curacies. 


46  Charles  Kingsley 

Chelsea:  April,  1842.  — . . I hope  to  be  or- 

dained in  July  to  the  Curacy  of  Eversley  in  Hampshire. 
In  the  midst  of  lovely  scenery  — rich  — but  not  exciting. 
And  you  will  be  with  me  in  your  thoughts,  in  my  village 
visits,  and  my  moorland  walks,  when  I am  drinking  in 
from  man  and  nature,  the  good  and  the  beautiful,  while  I 
purge  in  my  vocation  the  evil,  and  raise  up  the  falling  and 
the  faint.  Can  I not  do  it?  for  have  I not  fainted  and 
fallen  ? And  do  I not  know  too  well  the  bitterness  that 
is  from  without,  as  well  as  the  more  dire  one,  from  within  ? 
. . . My  reading  at  present  must  be  exclusively  con- 
fined to  divinity  — not  so  yours.  You  may  still  range 
freely  among  the  meadows  of  the  beautiful,  while  I am 
mining  in  the  deep  mountains  of  the  true.  And  so  it 
should  be  through  life.  The  woman’s  part  should  be  to 
cultivate  the  affections  and  the  imagination ; the  man’s 
the  intellect  of  their  common  soul.  She  must  teach  him 
how  to  apply  his  knowledge  to  men’s  hearts.  He  must 
teach  her  how  to  arrange  that  knowledge  into  practical 
and  theoretical  forms.  In  this  the  woman  has  the  nobler 
task.  But  there  is  one  more  noble  still  — to  find  out 
from  the  notices  of  the  universe,  and  the  revelation  of 
God,  and  the  uninspired  truth  which  He  has  made  His 
creatures  to  declare  even  in  heathen  lands,  to  find  out 
from  all  these  the  pure  mind  of  God,  and  the  eternal  laws 
whereby  He  made  us  and  governs  us.  This  is  true  sci- 
ence ; and  this,  as  we  discover  it,  will  replace  phantoms 
by  reality,  and  that  darkling  taper  of  ‘ common  sense/  by 
the  glorious  light  of  certainty.  For  this  the  man  must 
bring  his  philosophy,  and  the  woman  her  exquisite  sense 
of  the  beautiful  and  the  just,  and  all  hearts  and  all  lands 
shall  lie  open  before  them,  as  they  gradually  know  them 
one  by  one  ! That  glorious  word  know  — it  is  God’s  at- 
tribute, and  includes  in  itself  all  others.  Love  — truth  — 
all  are  parts  of  that  awful  power  of  knowing,  at  a single 
glance,  from  and  to  all  eternity,  what  a thing  is  in  its  es- 
sence, its  properties,  and  its  relations  to  the  whole  uni- 


Extracts  from  Letters  47 

verse  through  all  time  ! I feel  awe-struck  whenever  I see 
that  word  used  rightly,  and  I never,  if  I can  remember 
use  it  myself  of  myself.  But  to  us,  as  to  dying  Schiller, 
hereafter  many  things  will  become  plain  and  clear.  And 
this  is  no  dream  of  romance.  It  is  what  many  have  ap- 
proximated to  before  us,  with  less  intellectual,  and  no 
greater  spiritual  advantages ; and  strange  to  say,  some  of 
them  alo?ie  — buried  in  cloisters  seldom  — in  studies 
often  — some,  worst  of  all,  worn  down  by  the  hourly 
misery  of  a wife  who  neither  loved  them  nor  felt  for 
them  : but  to  those  who,  through  love,  have  once  caught 
a glimpse  of  ‘ the  great  secret/  what  may  they  not  do  by 
it  in  years  of  love  and  thought?  For  this  heavenly  knowl- 
edge is  not,  as  boyish  enthusiasts  fancy,  the  work  of  a 
day  or  a year.  Youth  will  pass  before  we  shall  have  made 
anything  but  a slight  approximation  to  it,  and  having 
handed  down  to  our  children  the  little  wisdom  we  shall 
have  amassed  while  here,  we  shall  commend  them  to 
God,  and  enter  eternity  very  little  wiser  in  proportion  to 
the  universal  knowledge  than  we  were  when  we  left  it  at 
our  birth.  But  still  if  our  plans  are  not  for  time,  but  for 
eternity,  our  knowledge,  and  therefore  our  love  to  God, 
to  each  other,  to  ourselves,  to  every  thing,  will  progress 
for  ever. 

“ And  this  scheme  is  practical  too  — for  the  attainment 
of  this  heavenly  wisdom  requires  neither  ecstasy  nor  rev- 
elation, but  prayer,  and  watchfulness,  and  observation, 
and  deep  and  solemn  thought.  And  two  great  rules  for 
its  attainment  are  simple  enough  — 6 Never  forget  what 
and  where  you  are ; 9 and,  ‘ Grieve  not  the  Holy  Spirit/ 
And  it  is  not  only  compatible  with  our  duties  as  priests  of 
the  Eternal,  but  includes  them  as  one  of  the  means  to  its 
attainment,  for  c if  a man  will  do  God’s  will,  he  shall  know 
of  the  doctrine,  whether  it  be  of  God.’  They  do  not 
speak  without  scriptural  as  well  as  theoretical  foundation, 
who  think  that  we  may  hereafter  be  called  upon  to  preach 
God  to  other  worlds  beside  our  own ; and  if  this  be  so, 


48  Charles  Kingsley 

does  not  the  acquirement  of  this  knowledge  become  a 
duty?  Knowledge  and  love  are  reciprocal.  He  who 
loves  knows.  He  who  knows  loves.  Saint  John  is  the 
example  of  the  first,  Saint  Paul  of  the  second.” 

In  the  interval  between  Cambridge  and  his  cu- 
racy he  began  to  write  the  life  of  St.  Elizabeth  of 
Hungary,  his  ideal  saint;  which  he  illustrated 
with  his  own  exquisite  drawings  in  pen  and  ink, 
not  intending  it  for  publication,  but  as  a gift  book 
to  his  wife  on  his  marriage-day,  if  that  day  should 
ever  come. 

“When  it  is  finished/’  he  says,  “I  have  another  work 
of  the  same  kind  to  begin  — a life  of  St.  Theresa  — as 
a specimen  of  the  dreamy  mystic,  in  contrast  with  the 
working  ascetic,  St.  Elizabeth,  and  to  contrast  the  celi- 
bate saint  with  the  married  one.  For  this  we  must  read 
Tersteegen,  Jacob  Behmen,  Madam  Guyon,  Alban  Butler, 
Fenelon,  some  of  Origen  and  Clemens  Alexandrinus,  and 
Coleridge’s  ‘ Aids/  &c.,  also  some  of  Kant,  and  a Ger- 
man history  of  mysticism.  In  order  to  understand 
puritanism  and  evangelicalism,  we  must  thoroughly  un- 
derstand asceticism  and  mysticism,  which  have  to  be 
eradicated  from  them  in  preaching  our  ‘ Message.’  ” 

In  the  Introduction  to  this  MSS.  life  he  says : 

“ You  know  what  first  turned  my  attention  to 

the  Oxford  Tracts ; but  you  do  not  know  that  my  own 
heart  strangely  yearned  towards  them  from  the  first ; that 
if  they  had  not  struck  at  the  root  of  wedded  happiness,  I 
too  had  been  ensnared  ! . . . But  when  I read  I soon  saw 
that  the  Oxford  writings  contained  only  half  truths  : that 
if  what  they  said  was  true,  much  more  what  they  did  not 
say,  was  true  also ! . . . that  Popery  was  their  climax  — 
the  full  development  of  their  theory  — the  abyss  to  which 


Extracts  from  Letters  49 

they  were  hurrying,  dallying  on  the  brink,  afraid  to  plunge 
in,  and  be  honest ! Then  came  the  question,  ‘ What  is 
this  Popery?’  Was  it  altogether  a lie  ? Did  all  Christen- 
dom, with  the  Apostles’  Creed  in  their  mouths  and  hearts, 
live  a truthless  and  irrational  life  for  800  years?  Does 
God  ever  so  desert  His  Church  ? I must  know,  I said, 
the  truth  of  this.  The  soundness  of  the  Reformers,  the 
Catholicity  of  the  English  Church,  is  only  certain  to  him 
who  knows  the  unsoundness  of  Popery.  What  are  these 
Fathers  too?  If  they  were  fallacies  superinduced  after 
their  day,  how  came  they,  and  why,  and  when?  Do  men 
forsake  the  world  for  a lie  ? Do  they  die  in  martyrdom, 
or  self-inflicted  tortures  altogether  for  a lie  ? Do  they  go 
on  crusade  for  a lie’s  sake  ? Is  any  great  deed  the  off- 

spring of  a lie  ? Strange  questions ! and  not  to  be 
answered  in  a day  ! Away  with  those  shallow  Encyclo- 
paedists and  Edinburgh  Reviewers,  with  their  cant  about 
excited  imaginations  and  popular  delusions,  and  such 
sense-bound  trash  ! Being  hollow  themselves,  they 
fancy  all  things  hollow  ! Being  sense-bound  themselves, 
they  see  the  energizing  Spirit  nowhere  ! Was  there  not 
a spiritual  truth,  or  half  truth,  or  counterfeit  of  truth  in 
those  days  as  in  others,  the  parent  of  all  religion,  all  man- 
liness, all  womanhood,  all  work?  Many  such  thoughts 
Maurice’s  writings  raised  in  me,  many  such  Thomas 
Carlyle’s,  many  more  the  observation,  that  men  never 
lost  sight  of  Christian  charity  in  their  controversies,  ex- 
cept when  they  did  not  see  that  it  was  a something , right 
or  wrong,  which  should  supply  a spiritual  want,  which 
their  opponents  were  struggling  after.  From  them  I 
learnt  somewhat  of  true  catholicity  — of  the  love  which 
delights  to  recognize  God’s  Spirit,  through  every  alloy  of 
age,  and  character,  and  circumstance  ! 

“ But  I would  not  go  on  hearsays  — Hell  is  paved  with 
them.  To  the  Fathers  I went — from  Clement  of  Rome  \ 
downwards  I began  to  read  them,  and  my  task  is  not  half 
done.  At  the  same  time  I began  with  Popish  books  ; 
vol.  1.  — 4 


50  Charles  Kingsley 

not  with  books  written  by  Protestants  against  them,  or  by 
them  against  Protestants  ; but  with  books  written  for  Pap- 
ists, in  the  full  heyday  of  Rome’s  unsuspecting  prosperity, 
before  attack  was  feared,  when  monks  said  what  they 
thought,  and  did  what  their  private  judgment  and  the 
Church  might  choose  without  misgiving  or  constraint. 
The  acts  and  the  biographies  of  saints,  pictures  of  Pop- 
ish life,  were  my  study : their  notions  and  their  theories 
(doctrines  men  call  them),  were  only  worth  noticing,  as 
they  were  the  springs  of  living  action.  My  question  was, 
‘What  must  we  do , if  Popery  be  right?  what  if  it  be 
wrong  ? ’ My  heart  told  me  more  strongly  at  every  page, 
that  the  battle  was  for  life  or  death  to  Love  ! Is  human 
love  unholy  — inconsistent  with  the  perfect  worship  of 
the  Creator  ? Is  marriage  less  honorable  than  virginity  ? 
Are  the  duties,  the  relations,  the  daily  food  of  men,  of 
earth  or  heaven?  Is  nature  a holy  type  or  a foul  prison 
to  our  spirits  ? Is  genius  the  reflex  of  God’s  mind,  or  the 
self-will  of  man  ? These  were  the  heart  questions  ! And 
in  this  book  I try  to  solve  them.  If  I succeed,  then  we 
are  safe  ! If  not,  then  our  honest  home  is  Popery  — 
Popery  and  celibacy.  . . . And  why  have  I chosen  this 
biography  in  particular?  Because  it  is  a fair  sample  of 
the  heart  of  a Papist,  and  the  work  of  a Popish  saint  and 
heroine,  in  the  days  when  Popery  had  a life,  a meaning 
for  good  and  evil — a fair  sample,  for  though  superior  to 
all  other  saints,  as  gold  is  to  brass,  yet  she  alone  shows 
what  the  system  will  effect,  when  applied  to  a healthy 
mind.  For  her  affections  had  free  vent,  and  did  not 
ulcerate  to  the  surface  in  brutal  self-torture,  or  lazy 
mysticism,  or  unthankful  melancholy,  or  blasphemous 
raptures.  And  because,  too,  she  was  no  ‘ hot-bed 
saint/  laid  on  a sick  bed,  or  pent  up  in  a cloister,  but 
abroad  and  at  work,  bearing  such  fruit  as  Popery  can 
bear,  a specimen  of  what  it  can  effect,  when  unassisted 
by  an  artificial  and  unnatural  mode  of  life. 

“ Look  at  her  ! . . . Look  at  the  trials,  the  victories  of 


Extracts  from  Letters  5 1 

her  heart.  ...  It  is  an  easy  task,  for  her  heart  is  pure 
and  simple  enough  to  see  the  life  blood  of  God’s  Spirit 
thrilling  through  the  transparent  arteries,  yet  spotted, 
alas ! enough  from  without  and  from  within  to  let  us  per- 
ceive the  evil,  and  see  it  overcome  with  good  ! ” 

Chelsea  : May  7,  1842.  — “I  have  not  begun  Palm- 
er’s work  on  the  church  yet,  and  shall  not  till  after  my 
ordination.  I am  afraid  it  is  not  catholic  enough  to  suit 
me.  I hate  party  books.  Men  think  wrongly  when  they 
suppose  that  in  order  to  combat  error,  they  must  not  allow 
their  opponents  to  have  the  least  right  on  their  side ; no 
opinion  in  the  world  hardly  is  utte?'ly  wrong.  We  must 
be  catholic  spirits,  and  I do  not  think  we  shall  be  the 
less  sound  for  having  been,  in  the  dreary  years  that  are 
past,  tossed  about,  attached  to  parties.  When  I see  a 
man  change  his  opinions  often,  I say,  ‘ This  might  be  made 
a catholic  and  valuable  mind,  if  he  were  well  grounded 
in  first  principles.’  But  alas  ! men  build  on  the  sand. 
My  great  prayer  is  to  be  led  into  all  truth.  . . . You  ask 
me  whether  I like  Tersteegen.  The  whole  book  seems 
to  me  a beautiful  fallacy  ; his  great  fault  the  putting  out  of 
sight  the  fact  of  man’s  free  will  and  moral  responsibility. 

“ What  do  you  mean  by  a ‘ father-confessor  ’ ? Do 
not,  pray,  use  such  words?  I am  sure  that  it  is  un- 
womanly for  woman,  and  unmanly  for  man  to  make  any 
man  his /#//^-confessor.  All  that  another  should  know 
of  our  hearts  should  be  told  in  the  almost  involuntary 
overflowing  of  love,  not  in  the  midst  of  blushes  and 
trembling  to  a man  who  dares  to  arrogate  moral  superi- 
ority over  us.  I cannot  understand  the  term.  I can 
believe  in  and  think  them  happy  who  have  a husband- 
confessor,  and  a wife-confessor  — but  a father-confessor  is 
a term  I do  not  allow.  ...  I can  feel  veneration  as 
much  as  any  one  — perhaps  too  much , but  there  is  a 
Christian  as  well  as  political  liberty,  which  is  quite  con- 
sistent with  High-Church  principles,  which  makes  the 


52  Charles  Kingsley 

clergy  our  teachers  — not  the  keepers  of  our  consciences, 
but  of  our  creeds . 

• • • • * • • • 

“ I am  liking  more  and  more  the  experimental  religion 
of  the  Low  Church  School.  I am  astonished  at  the 
depth  and  subtlety  of  knowledge  of  the  human  heart, 
which  many  of  them  display.  It  is  so  refreshing  after  the 
cold  dogmatism  of  the  High  Church.  Both  are  good  in 
their  way.  But  I want,  like  such  men  as  Leighton, 
Jewell,  and  Taylor,  to  combine  both  the  dogmatic  and 
the  experimental.  We  must  be  catholic ; we  must  hold 
the  whole  truth  ; we  must  have  no  partial  or  favorite 
views  of  Christianity,  like  the  Dissenters  and  the  Tracta- 
rians.  The  more  I look,  the  more  I see  how  superior 
the  divines  of  the  seventeenth  century  were  to  the  present 
generation,  and  how  they  have  been  belied  by  the  Trac- 
tarians.  . . . These  are  my  secret  opinions  — mind,  I 
say  opinions  not  convictions.  What  a man  is  convinced 
is  true,  that  God  constrains  him  to  tell  out  fearlessly ; 
but  his  opinions  — by  which  are  properly  meant  sus- 
picions of  the  truth  of  a fact  which  are  derived  from  in- 
sufficient grounds,  these  opinions  I say,  he  is  bound  to 
keep  to  himself  (except  to  ask  advice  on  them  if  they  be- 
long to  points  where  harm  may  be  done),  lest  having 
reason  to  change  them,  he  should  find  out  hereafter  that 
he  has  been  teaching  a lie  ! ...  ” 

June , 1842.  — “ . . . Amuse  yourself — get  poetry  and 
read  it  — I have  a book  called  ‘ Tennyson’s  Poems/  the 
most  beautiful  poetry  of  the  last  fifteen  years.  Shall  I send  it 
you  ? . . . What  is  our  present  dreariness  and  weariness  to 
what  it  would  have  been  two  thousand  years  ago  ? We  have 
now  the  Rock  of  Ages  to  cling  to.  Then,  — there  would 
have  been  nothing  but  mist  — no  certainty  but  that  of  our 
own  misery  — no  hope  but  the  stillness  of  death  — Oh 
we  are  highly  favored.  When  I watch  the  workings  of 
the  ancient  minds,  weighed  down  with  the  sense  of  the 
mystery  of  life,  and  giddy  with  the  ceaseless  whirl  of 


Ordained  Deacon 


53 

matter  and  mind  through  infinite  obscurity,  then  I feel 
how  safe  we  are  ! Such  a man  as  Lucretius,  or  Pyrrho, 
seeing  nothing  but  eternal  change  — motion  — heaven 
and  earth  one  vast  dreary  all-devouring  vortex,  sucking  in 
to  destruction  all  beauty  and  life  and  goodness,  and  re- 
producing it — with  that  horrid  change-destroyed  con- 
sciousness. Such  men  as  these,  to  whom  the  universe 
seemed  one  everlasting  fiend-dance,  infinite  in  its  dreari- 
ness, eternal  in  its  howlings  ; — hero-minds,  bowed  down 
with  the  terror  of  helplessness,  and  the  degradation  of 
ignorance  ; — phantom-builders,  trying  in  vain  to  arrange 
the  everlasting  chaos  round  them  : — these  were  the  wise 
of  old.  And  we,  by  the  alchemy  of  God’s  Spirit,  can  by 
prayer  systematize  the  chaos,  and  walk  upon  the  rolling 
mists  of  infinity,  as  on  solid  ground.  All  is  safe  — for 
through  all  time,  changeless  and  unbroken,  extends  the 
Rock  of  Ages  1 And  must  we  not  thank  and  thank  for 
ever,  and  toil  and  toil  for  ever  for  Him  ? ...  Tell  me 
if  I am  ever  obscure  in  my  expressions,  and  do  not  fancy 
that  if  I am  obscure  I am  therefore  deep.  If  I were 
really  deep,  all  the  world  would  understand,  though  they 
might  not  appreciate.  The  perfectly  popular  style  is  the 
perfectly  scientific  one.  To  me  an  obscurity  is  a reason 
for  suspecting  a fallacy.  ...” 

In  July  he  was  ordained  deacon  by  Bishop 
Sumner. 

Farnham  : July  io.  — “ God’s  mercies  are  new  every 
morning.  Here  I am  waiting  to  be  admitted  in  a few 
hours  to  His  holy  ministry,  and  take  refuge  for  ever  in 
His  Temple  ! . . . Yet  it  is  an  awful  thing ! for  we 
promise,  virtually  at  least,  to  renounce  this  day  not  only 
the  devil  and  the  flesh,  but  the  world ; — to  do  nothing, 
know  nothing,  which  shall  not  tend  to  the  furtherance  of 
God’s  Kingdom,  or  the  assimilation  of  ourselves  to  the 
Great  Ideal,  and  to  our  proper  place  and  rank  in  the 
great  system  whose  harmony  we  are  to  labor  to  restore 


54  Charles  Kingsley 

And  can  we  restore  harmony  to  the  Church,  unless  we 
have  restored  it  to  ourselves  ? If  our  own  souls  are  dis- 
cords to  the  celestial  key,  the  immutable  symphonies 
which  revelation  gives  us  to  hear,  can  we  restore  the  con- 
cord of  the  perplexed  vibrations  round  us?  . . . We 
must  be  holy ! and  to  be  holy  we  must  believe  rightly  as 
well  as  pray  earnestly.  We  must  bring  to  the  well  of 
truth  a spirit  purified  from  all  previous  fancies,  all  medi- 
cines of  our  own  which  may  adulterate  the  water  of  life  ! 
We  must  take  of  that  and  not  of  our  own,  and  show  it  to 
mankind.  It  is  that  glory  in  the  beauty  of  truth,  which 
was  my  idol,  even  when  I did  not  practise  or  even  know 
truth.  But  now  that  I know  it,  and  can  practise  it,  and 
carry  it  out  into  the  details  of  life  ; now  I am  happy ; now 
I am  safe  ! . . . 

“ We  need  not  henceforward  give  up  the  beautiful  for 
the  true,  but  make  the  true  the  test  of  the  beautiful,  and 
the  beautiful  the  object  of  the  true,  until  to  us  God 
appears  in  perfect  beauty ! Thus  every  word  and  every 
leaf  which  has  beauty  in  it,  will  be  as  loved  as  ever,  but 
they  will  all  be  to  us  impresses  of  the  Divine  hand,  re- 
flexes of  the  Divine  mind,  lovely  fragments  of  a once 
harmonious  world,  whose  ruins  we  are  to  store  up  in  our 
hearts,  waiting  till  God  restores  the  broken  harmony,  and 
we  shall  comprehend  in  all  its  details  the  glorious  system, 
where  Christ  is  all  in  all ! Thus  we  will  love  the  beauti- 
ful because  it  is  part  of  God,  though  what  part  it  is  we 
cannot  see  ; and  love  the  true,  because  it  shows  us  how 
to  find  the  beautiful ! But  back  ! back  to  the  thought 
that  in  a few  hours  my  whole  soul  will  be  waiting  silently 
for  the  seals  of  admission  to  God’s  service,  of  which 
honor  I dare  hardly  think  myself  worthy,  while  I dare 
not  think  that  God  would  allow  me  to  enter  on  them 
unworthily.  . . . Night  and  morning,  for  months,  my 
prayer  has  been  : ‘ O God,  if  I am  not  worthy ; if  my 
sin  in  leading  souls  from  Thee  is  still  unpardoned  ; if  I 
am  desiring  to  be  a deacon  not  wholly  for  the  sake  of 


Curacy  of  Eversley  55 

serving  Thee ; if  it  be  necessary  to  show  me  my  weak- 
ness and  the  holiness  of  Thy  office  still  more  strongly,  O 
God,  reject  me  ! , and  while  I shuddered  for  your  sake  at 
the  idea  of  a repulse,  I prayed  to  be  repulsed  if  it  were 
necessary,  and  included  that  in  the  meaning  of  my  petition 
1 Thy  will  be  done/  After  this  what  can  I consider  my 
acceptance  but  as  a proof  that  I have  not  sinned  too 
deeply  for  escape  ! as  an  earnest  that  God  has  heard  my 
prayer  and  will  bless  my  ministry,  and  enable  me  not 
only  to  rise  myself,  but  to  lift  others  with  me  ! Oh  ! my 
soul,  my  body,  my  intellect,  my  very  love,  I dedicate  you 
all  to  God  ! And  not  mine  only  . ..  to  be  an  example 
and  an  instrument  of  holiness  before  the  Lord  for  ever,  to 
dwell  in  His  courts,  to  purge  His  temple,  to  feed  His 
sheep,  to  carry  the  lambs  and  bear  them  to  that  foster- 
mother  whose  love  never  fails,  whose  eye  never  sleeps,  the 
Bride  of  God,  the  Church  of  Christ ! . . . I would  have 
written  when  I knew  of  my  success  yesterday,  but  there 
was  no  town  post.  Direct  to  me  next  at  Eversley  ! . . 

And  now,  at  the  age  of  twenty-three,  he  settled 
down  in  Eversley ; little  thinking  that  with  a short 
interval  it  would  be  his  home  for  thirty-three  years. 

The  parish  of  Eversley  1 (Aper’s  lea)  was  then 

1 “You  are  right  in  taking  the  name  of  Eversley,”  says  Mr. 
Isaac  Taylor,  author  of  “ Words  and  Places,”  “ as  one  of  the  few 
remaining  records  of  the  former  existence  of  the  wild  boar  in 
England.  In  Anglo-Saxon,  a wild  boar  is  eofor.  An  Anglo-Saxon 
eo  commonly  answers  to  modern  English  e>  and  Anglo-Saxon  ft  o 
modern  English  v , and  Anglo-Saxon  o often  to  English  e.  All 
these  changes  are  seen  in  the  word  seven , which  in  Anglo-Saxon 
was  written  seofon.  Hence  Anglo-Saxon  eofor  would  take  the 
English  form  ever  (genitive  evers).  Ever  and  eofor  are  not  derived 
from  Latin  aper , but  are  only  cousin  words  derived  from  a common 
Aryan  parent.  The  last  syllable  of  Eversley  is  the  Anglo-Saxon 
tedhy  which  means  a bosky  place  — a sort  of  open  pasturage  more 
or  less  wooded,  like  the  unenclosed  glades  in  the  New  Forest.” 

Mr.  Taylor  was  not  aware  that  part  of  the  parish  of  Eversley 
was  called  Bramshill ; i.  e .,  Brawnshill,  or  the  Hill  of  Wild  Boars, 
which  sustains  his  theory.  M.  K. 


56  Charles  Kingsley 

mostly  common  land,  divided  into  three  hamlets, 
each  standing  on  its  own  little  green,  surrounded 
by  the  moorland  with  young  forests  of  self-sown 
fir  trees  cropping  up  in  every  direction.  It  was  on 
the  borders  of  Old  Windsor  Forest;  and  the  old 
men  could  remember  the  time  when  many  a royal 
deer  used  to  stray  into  Eversley  parish.  The 
population  was  very  scattered  — “ heth  croppers  ” 
from  time  immemorial  and  poachers  by  instinct 
and  heritage.  Every  man  in  those  days  could 
snare  his  hare,  and  catch  a good  dinner  of  fish  in 
waters  not  then  strictly  preserved;  and  the  old 
women  would  tell  of  the  handsome  muffs  and 
tippets,  made  of  pheasants'  feathers,  not  got  with 
money,  which  they  wore  in  their  young  days.  To 
use  their  rector's  own  words,  after  he  had  lived 
among  them  for  sixteen  years : 

“ The  clod  of  these  parts  is  the  descendant  of  many 
generations  of  broom  squires  and  deer  stealers ; the  in- 
stinct of  sport  is  strong  within  him  still,  though  no  more 
of  the  Queen’s  deer  are  to  be  shot  in  the  winter  turnip 
fields,  or  worse,  caught  by  an  apple-baited  hook  hung 
from  an  orchard  bough.  He  now  limits  his  aspirations  to 
hares  and  pheasants,  and  too  probably  once  in  his  life 
‘ hits  the  keeper  into  the  river,’  and  re-considers  himself 
for  a while  over  a crank  in  Winchester  jail.  Well,  he 
has  his  faults,  and  I have  mine.  But  he  is  a thorough 
good  fellow  nevertheless.  Civil,  contented,  industrious, 
and  often  very  handsome ; a far  shrewder  fellow  too  — 
owing  to  his  dash  of  wild  forest  blood  from  gypsy,  high- 
wayman, and  what  not  — than  his  bullet-headed  and 
flaxen-polled  cousin,  the  pure  South  Saxon  of  the  chalk 
downs.  Dark-haired  he  is,  ruddy,  and  tall  of  bone ; 
swaggering  in  his  youth  : but  when  he  grows  old  a thor- 
ough gentleman,  reserved,  stately,  and  courteous  as  a 
prince.  ...”  — [“  Winter  Garden  — Prose  Idylls.”] 


Curacy  of  Eversley  57 

Of  the  peculiar  feature  of  the  parish  — its  fir 
trees  — including  the  three  fine  specimens  on  the 
rectory  lawn,  which  were  his  joy  and  pride,  he 
says: 

“ Whether,  as  we  hold  traditionally  here,  the  Scotch  fir 
was  re-introduced  by  James  I.  when  he  built  Bramshill 
for  Henry  the  prince,  or  whatever  may  have  been  the 
date  of  their  re-introduction,  here  they  are,  and  no  one 
can  turn  them  out.  In  countless  thousands  the  winged 
seeds  float  down  the  southwest  gales  from  the  older  trees  ; 
and  every  seed  which  falls  takes  root  in  ground  which, 
however  unable  to  bear  broad-leaved  trees,  is  ready  by 
long  rest  for  the  seeds  of  the  needle-leaved  ones.  . . . 
Truly  beautiful  — grand  indeed  to  me  it  is  — to  see  young 
live  Nature  thus  carrying  on  a great  savage  process  in  the 
heart  of  this  old  and  seemingly  all-artificial  English  land ; 
and  reproducing  here,  as  surely  as  in  the  Australian  bush, 
a native  forest,  careless  of  mankind.  . . .” — [“  Winter 
Garden — Prose  Idylls.”] 

July  17th  was  Charles  Kingsley’s  first  day  of 
public  ministration  in  Eversley  Church.  “ I was 
not  nervous,”  he  says,  “ for  I had  prayed  before 
going  into  the  desk  that  I might  remember  that  I 
was  not  speaking  on  my  own  authority,  but  on 
God’s,  and  the  feeling  that  the  responsibility  (if  I 
may  so  speak)  was  on  God  and  not  on  me  quieted 
the  weak  terror  I have  of  offending  people.” 
Before  his  coming,  the  church  services  had  been 
utterly  neglected.  It  sometimes  happened  that 
when  the  rector  had  a cold,  or  some  trifling  ail- 
ment, he  would  send  the  clerk  to  the  church  door 
at  eleven,  to  tell  the  few  who  attended  that  there 
would  be  no  service.  In  consequence  the  ale- 
houses were  full  on  Sunday  and  the  church  emptyr 


58  Charles  Kingsley 

and  it  was  up-hill  work  getting  a congregation 
together. 

For  the  first  six  weeks  of  his  curate  life  he  lived 
in  the  rectory  house,  and  the  following  letter  con- 
tained a sketch  of  the  lawn  and  glebe  from  the 
drawing-room  windows  and  a plan  of  the  room. 

Eversley  Rectory:  July  14,  1842.  — “ Can  you 
understand  my  sketch  ? I am  no  drawer  of  trees,  but  the 
view  is  beautiful.  The  ground  slopes  upward  from  the 
windows  to  a sunk  fence  and  road,  without  banks  or 
hedges,  and  then  rises  in  the  furze  hill  in  the  drawing, 
which  hill  is  perfectly  beautiful  in  light  and  shade,  and 
color.  . . . Behind  the  acacia  on  the  lawn  you  get  the 
first  glimpse  of  the  fir-forests  and  moors,  of  which  five- 
sixths  of  my  parish  consist.  Those  delicious  self-sown 
firs  ! Every  step  I wander  they  whisper  to  me  of  you, 
the  delicious  past  melting  into  the  more  delicious  future. 
‘ What  has  been,  shall  be/  they  say ! I went  the  other 
day  to  Bramshill  Park,  the  home  of  the  seigneur  de  pays 
here,  Sir  John  Cope.  And  there  I saw  the  very  tree 
where  an  ancestor  of  mine,  Archbishop  Abbott,  in  James 
the  First’s  time,  shot  the  keeper  by  accident ! I sat 
under  the  tree,  and  it  all  seemed  to  me  like  a present 
reality.  I could  fancy  the  noble  old  man,  very  different 
then  from  his  picture  as  it  hangs  in  our  dining-room  at 
Chelsea.  I could  fancy  the  deer  sweeping  by,  and  the 
rattle  of  the  cross-bow,  and  the  white  splinters  sparkling 
off  the  fated  tree  as  the  bolt  glanced  and  turned  — and 
then  the  death  shriek,  and  the  stagger,  and  the  heavy  fall 
of  the  sturdy  forester  — and  the  bow  dropping  from  the 
old  man’s  hands,  and  the  blood  sinking  to  his  heart  in 
one  chilling  rush,  and  his  glorious  features  collapsing  into 
that  look  of  changeless  and  rigid  sorrow,  which  haunted 
me  in  the  portrait  upon  the  wall  in  childhood.  He  never 
smiled  again ! And  that  solemn  form  always  spoke  to 
me,  though  I did  not  then  know  what  it  meant.  It  is 


Parish  Work 


59 

strange  that  that  is  almost  the  only  portrait  saved  in  the 
wreck  of  our  family.1 * * * * *  As  I sat  under  the  tree,  there 
seemed  to  be  a solemn  and  remorseful  moan  in  the  long 
branches,  mixed  with  the  airy  whisper  of  the  lighter 
leaves  that  told  of  present  as  well  as  past ! I am  going  to 
dine  at  one  to-day,  and  walk  all  the  cool  of  the  evening, 
for  my  head  is  sadly  worn  of  late,  and  I have  been  ser- 
mon-writing all  the  morning.  My  books  are  not  come 
yet,  and  I cannot  set  to  work  in  earnest  — perhaps  it  is 
as  well,  for  I want  rest,  though  I shall  not  forget  about 
6 making  fatigue  a plea  for  indolence. 7 I go  to  the  school 
every  day,  and  teach  as  long  as  I can  stand  the  heat  and 
smell.  The  few  children  are  in  a room  ten  feet  square 
and  seven  feet  high.  I am  going  after  dinner  to  read  to 
an  old  woman  of  87  ; so  you  see  I have  begun.  This  is 
a plan  of  my  room.  It  is  a large,  low,  front  room,  with  a 
light  paper  and  drab  curtains,  and  a large  bow  window, 
where  I sit,  poor  me,  solitary  in  one  corner.  . . .” 

July  16. — “.  . . The  great  mysticism  is  the  belief 
which  is  becoming  every  day  stronger  with  me  that  all 
symmetrical  natural  objects,  aye,  and  perhaps  all  forms, 
colors,  and  scents  which  show  organization  or  arrange- 
ment, are  types  of  some  spiritual  truth  or  existence,  of  a 
grade  between  the  symbolical  type  and  the  mystic  type. 
When  I walk  the  fields  I am  oppressed  every  now  and 
then  with  an  innate  feeling,  that  everything  I see  has  a 
meaning,  if  I could  but  understand  it.  And  this  feeling 
of  being  surrounded  with  truths  which  I cannot  grasp, 
amounts  to  indescribable  awe  sometimes  ! Everything 

1 This  picture  of  Archbishop  Abbott,  by  Vandyke,  came  into 
the  family  through  William  Kingsley,  born  1626,  Gentleman  of 
the  Privy  Chamber  to  Charles  II.,  son  of  William  Kingsley,  Arch- 

deacon of  Canterbury,  and  Damaris  his  wife,  who  was  a niece  to 

Robertus  Abbott,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  The  archbishop 

was  a great  friend  of  Lord  Zouche,  then  owner  of  Bramshill  Park,, 

and  while  on  a visit  there  accidentally  killed  the  keeper  with  a 

bolt  from  his  cross-bow  aimed  at  a stag.  He  was  suspended  for  a 

time  in  consequence. 


6o 


Charles  Kingsley 

seems  to  be  full  of  God’s  reflex,  if  we  could  but  see  it. 
Oh  ! how  1 have  prayed  to  have  the  mystery  unfolded,  at 
least  hereafter!  To  see,  if  but  for  a moment,  the  whole 
harmony  of  the  great  system  ! To  hear  once  the  music 
which  the  whole  universe  makes  as  it  performs  His 
bidding  ! Oh,  that  heaven  ! The  thought  of  the  first 
glance  of  Creation  from  thence  ! when  we  know  even  as  we 
are  known ! and  He,  the  glorious,  the  beautiful,  the 
incarnate  Ideal  shall  be  justified  in  all  His  doings,  and  in 
all  and  through  all  and  over  all ! When  I feel  that  sense 
of  the  mystery  that  is  around  me,  I feel  a gush  of 
enthusiasm  towards  God,  which  seems  its  inseparable 
effect ! ...  All  day,  glimpses  from  the  other  world  — 
floating  motes  from  that  inner  transcendental  life,  have 
been  flitting  across  me,  just  as  they  used  in  childhood, 
when  the  seen  and  the  unseen  were  one,  an  undistinguish- 
able  twin  mystery ; the  one  not  yet  forgotten,  the  other 
not  yet  learnt  so  perfectly  as  to  dazzle,  by  its  coarse  glare, 
the  spirit-perceptions  which  the  soul  learnt  to  feel  in 
another  world.  . . . Have  you  not  felt  that  your  real  soul 
was  imperceptible  to  your  mental  vision,  except  at  a few 
hallowed  moments  ? that  in  every-day  life  the  mind,  look- 
ing at  itself,  only  sees  the  brute  intellect,  grinding  and 
working;  not  the  Divine  particle,  which  is  life  and 
immortality,  and  on  which  the  Spirit  of  God  most  prob- 
ably works,  as  being  most  cognate  to  Deity  ? . . . More 
and  more  do  I see  daily  the  tremendous  truth  that  all  our 
vaunted  intellect  is  nothing — nothing  but  a noble 
mechanism,  and  that  the  source  of  feeling  is  the  soul. 
This  thought  begins  to  explain  to  me  the  mysteries  of 
moral  responsibility  and  moral  culture.  . . 

Aug.,  1842.  — “ To-day  it  is  hotter  than  yesterday,  if 
possible,  so  I wandered  out  into  the  fields,  and  have  been 
passing  the  morning  in  a lonely  woodland  bath  — a little 
stream  that  trickles  off  the  moor  — with  the  hum  of  bees, 
and  the  sleepy  song  of  birds  around  me,  and  the  feeling 
of  the  density  of  life  in  myriads  of  insects  and  flowers 


Parish  Work 


61 

strong  upon  me,  drinking  in  all  the  forms  of  beauty  which 
lie  in  the  leaves  and  pebbles,  and  mossy  nooks  of  damp 
tree  roots,  and  all  the  lowly  intricacies  of  nature  which  no 
one  stoops  to  see ; and  while  eye  and  ear  were  possessed 
with  the  feeling  that  all  had  a meaning  — all  was  a type 
— a language,  which  we  should  know  in  heaven,  the  in- 
tellect was  not  dreaming  asleep,  but  alternately  investigating 
my  essay- subject,  and  then  wandering  away  to  you.  And 
over  all,  as  the  cool  water  trickled  on,  hovered  the 
delicious  sense  of  childhood,  and  simplicity,  and  purity 
and  peace,  which  every  temporary  return  to  a state  of 
nature  gives  ! A woodland  bath  to  me  always  brings 
thoughts  of  Paradise.  I know  not  whether  they  are  fore- 
tastes of  the  simple  bliss  that  shall  be  in  the  renovated 
earth,  or  whether  they  are  back  glimpses  into  the  former 
ages,  when  we  wandered  — Do  you  remember  ? — beside 
the  ocean  of  eternal  love  ! 

“ 1 Hence  in  a season  of  calm  weather, 

When  inland  far  we  be, 

Our  souls  have  sight  of  that  eternal  sea 
That  brought  us  hither  ! 

Can  see  the  children  sport  upon  the  shore, 

And  hear  the  mighty  waters  rolling  evermore.’ 

" I read  some  of  the  sermons  by  authors  of  ; Tracts  for 
the  Times,’  which  you  gave  me.  There  is  the  same 
moaning  piety  in  them,  and  something  darker.  I was 
frightened  at  a sermon  of  Newman’s  on  6 Christian 
Reverence,’  in  which  he  tries  to  show  that  Christ  used 
to  ‘ deter  9 people  and  repel  them  ! He  illustrates  it  by 
the  case  of  the  young  ruler,  and  says  that  fie  was  severe 
on  Nicodemus,  and  that  ‘ He  made  Himself  strange  and 
spake  roughly’  to  those  who  inquired.  This  is  very  dark 
and  dismal.  I had  thought  that  we  were  to  ‘ come  boldly 
to  the  throne  of  grace/  But,  no!  we  are  to  return, 
under  Christianity,  to  the  terrors  of  the  law.  We  are  to 
become  ‘ again  entangled  with  the  yoke  of  bo?idage 9 
(mind  that  verse),  by  having  to  expiate  our  own  sins  by 


62  Charles  Kingsley 

fasting,  alms,  and  penance  ! Is  this  the  liberty  with  which 
Christ  has  made  us  free  ? I declare  (I  speak  under  God’s 
correction  and  with  reverence)  that  if  these  doctrines  be 
Christianity,  we  should  be  happier  here,  and  safer  here- 
after, as  Jews  or  heathens  ! . . . Can  you  not  see  what 
my  horror  of  Popery  and  Tractarianism  arises  from  ? Do 
you  not  see  that  if  you  once  allow  of  good  works  having 
any  expiatory  power,  you  do  away  with  all  real  morality, 
because  you  destroy  its  disinterestedness  ! If  a man  does 
good  works  to  be  saved  from  hell  by  them,  what  is  he  but 
selfish?  We  ought  to  do  good  works  from  gratitude  to 
Christ,  and  from  admiration  of  His  character.  . . . 

“ Do  you  not  see  the  noble  standard  of  Christian 
morality,  and  its  infinite  superiority  to  this?  . . . Talk- 
ing of  the  Tractators  — so  you  still  like  their  tone  / And 
so  do  I.  There  is  a solemn  and  gentleman-like,  and 
gentle  earnestness  which  is  most  beautiful,  and  which  I 
wish  I may  ever  attain.  But  you  have  just  as  much  rea- 
son for  following  them,  or  even  reading  them  much  on 
that  account,  as  the  moth  has  for  fluttering  round  the 
candle  because  it  is  bright.  The  case  is  hackneyed  but 
the  analogy  is  perfect. 

“ The  Christian  religion  is  all  through  anthropomorphic, 
or  suited  to  the  intellect  and  feelings  of  finite  man,  and 
proposing  the  worship  of  a God,  not  only  manifested  as 
similar  to  us  in  intellect  and  feelings,  but  even  incarnate  in 
a human  body.  ...  Now  this  religion  appeals  to  the 
intellect  of  mankind  for  its  truth,  as  you  will  find  in  many 
parts  of  Scripture  — a plain  fact  that  it  is  comprehensible 
by  that  intellect ; that  is  to  say,  all  the  anthropomorphic 
part  of  it.  All  that  part  again  which  connects  this  particu- 
lar scheme , with  God’s  infi?iite  scheme  of  eternity  and  the 
whole  universe,  is  transcendental,  and  not  to  be  under- 
stood, and  there  we  must  not  intrude.  Such  are  the 
doctrines  of  the  Trinity,  Incarnation,  Free  will,  and 
Predestination,  and  the  operation  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 


Parish  Work  63 

But  for  all  parts  of  the  religion  which  belong  particularly 
to  the  Christian  scheme,  there  we  are  commanded  to 
search  the  Scriptures  and  satisfy  ourselves  as  thoroughly 
as  we  can.  Do  not  then  assume  a ‘ voluntary  humility/ 
which  we  are  cautioned  against,  and  of  which  we  know 
that  it  produced  in  the  early  ages  the  heresy  of  worship- 
ping angels,  because  men  thought  they  were  too  vile  and 
ignorant  to  address  God. 


u.  . . The  body  the  temple  of  the  Living  God.  . . . 
There  has  always  seemed  to  me  something  impious  in  the 
neglect  of  personal  health,  strength,  and  beauty,  which 
the  religious,  and  sometimes  clergymen  of  this  day  affect. 
It  is  very  often  a mere  form  of  laziness.  ...  I could  not 
do  half  the  little  good  I do  do  here,  if  it  were  not  for  that 
strength  and  activity  which  some  consider  coarse  and  de- 
grading. Do  not  be  afraid  of  my  overworking  myself. 
If  I stop,  I go  down.  I must  work.  . . . How  merciful 
God  has  been  in  turning  all  the  strength  and  hardihood  I 
gained  in  snipe  shooting  and  hunting,  and  rowing,  and 
jack-fishing  in  those  magnificent  fens  to  His  work ! 
While  I was  following  my  own  fancies,  He  was  preparing 
me  for  His  work.  ...  Is  it  not  an  awful  proof  that  mat- 
ter is  not  necessarily  evil,  that  we  shall  be  clothed  in 
bodies  even  in  our  perfect  state  ? Think  of  that ! ...  It 
seems  all  so  harmonious  to  me.  It  is  all  so  full  of  God, 
that  I §pe  no  inconsistency  in  making  my  sermons  while 
I am  cutting  wood ; and  no  ‘ bizarrerie  ’ in  talking  one 
moment  to  one  man  about  the  points  of  a horse,  and  the 
next  moment  to  another  about  the  mercy  of  God  to 
sinners.  I try  to  catch  men  by  their  leading  ideas,  and 
so  draw  them  off  insensibly  to  my  leading  idea.  And  so 
I find  — shall  I tell  you  ? that  God  is  really  permitting  me 
to  do  His  work  — I find  that  dissent  is  decreasing ; people 
are  coming  to  church  who  never  went  anywhere  before  ; 
that  I am  loved  and  respected  — or  rather  that  God's 
ministry,  which  has  been  here  deservedly  despised,  alas  ! 


64  Charles  Kingsley 

is  beginning  to  be  respected;  and  above  all,  that  the 
young  wild  fellows  who  are  considered  as  hopeless  by 
most  men,  because  most  men  are  what  they  call  * spoony 
Methodists/  i.  e .,  effeminate  ascetics — dare  not  gainsay, 
but  rather  look  up  to  a man  who  they  see  is  their  superior, 
if  he  chose  to  exert  his  power,  in  physical  as  well  as  in- 
tellectual skill.  So  I am  trying  to  become  (harmoniously 
and  consistently)  all  things  to  all  men,  and  I thank  God 
for  the  versatile  mind  He  has  given  me.  . . .” 

This  was  one  secret  of  his  influence  in  Eversley. 
He  could  swing  a flail  with  the  threshers  in  the 
barn,  turn  his  swathe  with  the  mowers  in  the 
meadow,  pitch  hay  with  the  hay-makers  in  the  past- 
ure. He  knew,  too,  every  fox  earth  on  the  moor, 
the  “ reedy  hover  ” of  the  pike,  the  still  hole  where 
the  chub  lay,  and  had  always  a word  in  sympathy 
for  the  huntsman  or  the  old  poacher.  With  the 
farmer  he  could  discuss  the  rotation  of  crops,  and 
with  the  laborer  the  science  of  hedging  and  ditch- 
ing. And  in  giving  sympathy  he  gained  power.  It 
was  this  year,  in  a great  crisis  of  his  life,  that  Mr. 
Maurice’s  “ Kingdom  of  Christ”  was  put  into  his 
hands  — a book  to  which  he  always  said  that  he 
owed  more  than  to  any  he  had  ever  read.  To  some 
it  may  seem  strange  that  Carlyle’s  works  thould 
have  laid  the  foundation  to  which  Coleridge’s  and 
Maurice’s  were  the  superstructure : but  Chevalier 
Bunsen,  in  a remarkable  passage  in  his  “ Hyppoly- 
tus”  (vol.  ii.  p.  21-23),  where  he  strikes  the  point 
of  contact  between  the  three  authors,  explains  their 
influence  on  such  minds  as  Charles  Kingsley’s. 

Circumstances  now  caused  a long  break  in  this 
correspondence;  and  the  faith  and  patience  with 
which  he  met  the  trial  may  be  seen  in  these  part- 


Working  and  Waiting  65 

mg  words,  intended  for  one  eye  only,  but  from 
which  the  following  extracts  have  been  made,  in 
the  hope  they  may  be  a help  to  those  who  have 
the  same  thorny  road  to  travel  without  such  a 
friend  and  guide. 


Eversley:  August,  1842.  — “.  . . Though  there  may 
be  clouds  between  us  now,  yet  they  are  safe  and  dry,  free 
from  storm  and  rains  — our  parted  state  now  is  quiet 
gray  weather,  under  which  all  tender  things  will  spring  up 
and  grow,  beneath  the  warm  damp  air,  till  they  are  ready 
for  the  next  burst  of  sunshine  to  hurry  them  into  blossom 
and  fruit.  Let  us  plant  and  rear  all  tender  thoughts, 
knowing  surely  that  those  who  sow  in  tears  shall  reap  in 
joy.  ...  I can  understand  people’s  losing  by  trusting 
too  little  to  God,  but  I cannot  understand  any  one’s  los- 
ing by  trusting  too  much  to  Him  ! . . . Do  not,”  he  had 
said  previously,  “ suppose  that  I augur  ill  from  our  dis- 
appointment — rather  the  contrary.  I have  always  been 
afraid  of  being  too  successful  at  first.  I think  sorrow  at 
the  beginning  augurs  well  for  the  happiness  of  a con- 
nection that  must  last  for  ever.”  . . . “ There  are  two 
ways  at  looking  at  every  occurrence  — a bright  and  a 
dark  side.  Two  modes  of  action  — Which  is  most 
worthy  of  a rational  being,  a Christian  and  a friend  ? It 
is  absurd,  as  a rational  being,  to  torture  one’s  self  un- 
necessarily. It  is  inconsistent  in  a Christian  to  see  God’s 
wrath,  rather  than  His  mercy  in  everything.  . . . How  to 
avoid  this  morbidity  of  mind  ? By  prayer.  ‘ Resist  the 
devil  and  he  will  flee  from  you.’  By  turning  your  mind 
from  the  dark  view.  Never  begin  to  look  darkly  at  a 
subject,  without  checking  yourself  and  saying,  ‘ Is  there 
not  a bright  side  to  this?  Has  not  God  promised  the 
bright  side  to  me?  Is  not  my  happiness  in  my  own 
power?  Do  I not  know  that  I am  ruining  my  mind  and 
endangering  the  happiness  of  those  I love  — by  looking 
at  the  wrong  side  ? ’ Make  this  your  habit.  Every  gift 
vol.  1.  — 5 


66  Charles  Kingsley 

of  God  is  good,  and  given  for  our  happiness  ; and  we  sin 
if  we  abuse  it.  To  use  our  fancy  to  our  own  misery  is  to 
abuse  it  and  to  sin  — the  realm  of  the  possible  was  given 
to  man  to  hope,  and  not  to  fear  in.  ...  If,  then,  the 
thought  strikes  you  that  we  are  punished  for  our  sins  — 
mourn  for  them,  and  not  for  the  happiness  which  they 
have  prevented.  Rather  thank  God  that  He  has  stopped 
us  in  time,  and  remember  His  promises  of  restoring  us  if 
we  profit  by  his  chastisement.  ...  In  cases  of  love  to 
God  and  working  to  His  glory  in  the  first  and  second  in- 
tention read  Taylor’s  ‘Holy  Living.1  But  eschew  his 
Popish  fallacy  about  duties  as  different  from  perfections. 
Every  step  in  love  and  to  God,  and  devotion  to  Him  is  a 
duty  ! That  doctrine  was  invented  to  allow  mankind  to 
exist,  while  a few  self-conceited  shut  themselves  up  in  a 
state  of  unnatural  celibacy  and  morbid  excitement,  in 
order  to  avoid  their  duty,  instead  of  doing  it.  Avoid  the 
Fathers,  after  Origen  (including  him),  on  this  account  — 
their  theories  are  not  universal.  . . . 

“ . . . You  may  think  too  much ! There  is  such  a 
thing  as  mystifying  one’s  self ! Mystifying  one’s  self  is 
thinking  a dozen  thoughts  in  order  to  get  to  a conclusion, 
to  which  one  might  arrive  by  thinking  one  — getting  at 
ideas  by  an  unnecessarily  subtle  and  circuitous  path : 
then,  because  one  has  been  through  many  steps,  one 
fancies  one  has  gone  deep.  This  is  one  form  of  want  of 
simplicity.  This  is  not  being  like  a little  child,  any  more 
than  analyzing  one’s  own  feelings.  A child  goes  straight 
to  its  point,  and  it  hardly  knows  why.  When  you  have 
done  a thing,  leave  it  alone.  You  mystify  yourself  after 
the  idea,  not  before.  Second  thoughts  may  be  best 
before  action  — they  are  folly  after  action,  unless  we  find 
we  have  sinned.  The  consistent  Christian  should  have 
no  second  thoughts,  but  do  good  by  the  first  impulse. 
How  few  attain  to  this.  I do  not  object  to  subtlety  of 
thought : but  it  is  dangerous  for  one  who  has  no  scientific 
guide  of  logic,  &c. 


Working  and  Waiting  6 7 

" Aim  at  depth.  A thought  is  deep  in  proportion  as 
it  is  near  God.  You  may  be  subtle,  and  only  perceive  a 
trifling  property  of  the  subject,  which  others  do  not.  To 
be  deep,  you  must  see  the  subject  in  its  relation  to  God 
— yourself  — and  the  universe  ; and  the  more  harmoni- 
ous and  simple  it  seems,  the  nearer  God  and  the  deeper 
it  is.  All  the  deep  things  of  God  are  bright  — for  God 
is  light.  The  religion  of  terror  is  the  most  superficial  of 
all  religions . God’s  arbitrary  will,  and  almighty  power, 
may  seem  dark  by  themselves,  though  deep,  as  they  do  to 
the  Calvinists ; but  that  is  because  they  do  not  involve 
His  moral  character.  Join  them  with  the  fact  that  He  is 
a God  of  mercy  as  well  as  justice ; remember  that"  His 
essence  is  love ; — and  the  thunder- cloud  will  blaze  with 
dewy  gold,  full  of  soft  rain,  and  pure  light ! 

“ Again  : remember  that  habit,  more  than  reason,  will 
cure  one  both  of  mystifying  subtlety  and  morbid  fear ; 
and  remember  that  habits  are  a series  of  individual  volun- 
tary actions,  continued  till  they  become  involuntary.  One 
would  not  wish  to  become  good  by  habit,  as  the  Aristotle- 
loving  Tractarians  do ; but  one  must  acquire  tones  of 
mind  by  habit,  in  cases  in  which  intellectual,  not  moral 
obliquity,  or  constitutional  ill-health  is  the  cause  of  fail- 
ure. Some  minds  are  too  ‘ subjective/  What  I mean  is, 
that  they  may  devote  themselves  too  much  to  the  subject 
of  self  and  mankind.  Now  man  is  not  ‘ the  noblest 
study  of  man.’  God  is  the  noblest  study  of  man.  He  is 
the  only  study  fit  for  a woman  devoted  to  Him.  And 
Him  you  can  study  in  three  ways.  ist.  From  His 
dealings  in  History.  This  is  the  real  Philosophy  of  His- 
tory. Read  Arnold’s  1 Lectures  on  Modern  History/ 
(Oh  ! why  did  that  noblest  of  men  die  ? God  have 
mercy  upon  England ! He  takes  the  shining  lights  from 
us,  for  our  national  sins !)  And  read  as  he  tells  us  to 
read,  not  to  study  man  k la  Rochefoucault,  but  God  k la 
David ! 

“ 2d.  From  His  image  as  developed  in  Christ  the 


68  Charles  Kingsley 

Ideal,  and  in  all  good  men  — great  good  men  — David, 
Moses,  St.  Paul,  Hooker,  the  four  Oxford  martyrs, 
Luther,  Taylor,  Howard.  Read  about  that  glorious 
Luther!  and  like  him  strive  all  your  life  to  free  men 
from  the  bondage  of  custom  and  self,  the  two  great 
elements  of  the  world  that  lieth  in  wickedness  ! Read 
Maurice  for  this  purpose,  and  Carlyle. 

“ 3d.  From  His  works.  Study  nature  — not  scien- 
tifically — that  would  take  eternity,  to  do  it  so  as  to  reap 
much  moral  good  from  it.  Superficial  physical  science  is 
the  devil's  spade,  with  which  he  loosens  the  roots  of  the 
trees  prepared  for  the  burning.  Do  not  study  matter  for 
its  own  sake,  but  as  the  countenance  of  God.  Try  to 
extract  every  line  of  beauty,  every  association,  every 
moral  reflection,  every  inexpressible  feeling  from  it. 
Study  the  forms  and  colors  of  leaves  and  flowers,  and 
the  growth  and  habits  of  plants ; not  to  classify  them, 
but  to  admire  them  and  adore  God.  Study  the  sky. 
Study  water.  Study  trees.  Study  the  sounds  and  scents 
of  nature.  Study  all  these,  as  beautiful  in  themselves, 
in  order  to  re-combine  the  elements  of  beauty ; next, 
as  allegories  and  examples  from  whence  moral  reflections 
may  be  drawn ; next,  as  types  of  certain  tones  of  feeling, 
&c. ; but  remain  (yourself)  in  God-dependence,  superior 
to  them.  Learn  what  feelings  they  express,  but  do  not 
let  them  mould  the  tone  of  your  mind ; else  by  allowing 
a melancholy  day  to  make  you  melancholy,  you  worship 
the  creature  more  than  the  Creator.  No  sight  but  has 
some  beauty  and  harmony.  Read  geology  — Buckland’s 
book,  and  you  will  rise  up  awe-struck  and  cling  to  God. 

“ Study  the  human  figure,  both  as  intrinsically  beautiful 
and  as  expressing  mind.  It  only  expresses  the  broad 
natural  childish  emotions,  which  are  just  what  you  want 
to  return  to.  Study  4 natural  language  * — I mean  the 
‘language  of  attitude.’  It  is  an  inexhaustible  source  of 
knowledge  and  delight,  and  enables  one  human  being  to 
understand  another  so  perfectly.  Draw,  — learn  to  draw 


Working  and  Waiting  69 

and  paint  figures.  If  you  can  command  your  hand  in 
drawing  a tree,  you  can  in  drawing  a face.  Perfect  your 
coloring.  ...  It  will  keep  your  mind  employed  on 
objective  studies,  and  save  all  morbid  introversion  of 
mind  — brooding  over  fallen  man.  It  will  increase  your 
perception  of  beauty,  and  thereby  your  own  harmony  of 
soul  and  love  to  God..  Practise  music,  — I am  going  to 
learn  myself,  merely  to  be  able  to  look  after  my  singers. 

. . . Music  is  such  a vent  for  the  feelings.  . . . Study 
medicine.  ...  I am  studying  it.  . . . Make  yourself 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  wages,  wants,  and  habits, 
and  prevalent  diseases  of  the  poor  wherever  you  go.  Let 
your  mind  freely  forth.  Only  turn  it  inwards  at  prayer 
time,  to  recollect  sins  of  which  you  were  conscious  at  the 
time,  not  to  look  for  fresh  ones.  They  are  provided 
against  by  prayer  for  pardon  of  unintentional  sins.  What 
wisdom  in  our  Church  ! She  knew  that  if  she  allowed  sin 
hunting,  people  would  fancy,  like  some  Dissenters,  that 
pretending  everything  they  had  done  was  sinful,  was  a sign 
of  holiness.  Let  your  studies,  then,  be  objective  entirely. 
Look  forward  to  the  future  with  hope.  Build  castles  if  you 
will,  but  only  bright  ones,  and  not  too  many.  Better  to  live 
in  the  Past.  We  cannot  help  thanking  God  for  that ! 
Blessed  Past!  Think  of  all  God  has  done  for  us.  . . . Be 
happy.  . . . Weep,  but  let  them  be  tears  of  thankfulness. 

“ Do  not  be  too  solicitous  to  find  deep  meanings  in 
men’s  words.  Most  men  do,  and  all  men  ought  to  mean 
only  what  is  evident  at  first  sight  in  their  books  (unless 
they  be  inspired  or  write  for  a private  eye).  This  is  the 
great  danger  of  such  men  as  Novalis,  that  you  never  know 
how  much  he  means.  Beware  of  subtlety  again.  The 
quantity  of  sounding  nonsense  in  the  world  is  incredible ! 
If  you  wish  to  be  like  a little  child,  study  what  a little 
child  could  understand  — nature ; and  do  what  a little 
child  could  do  — love.  Use  your  senses  much,  and  your 
mind  little.  Feed  on  Nature,  and  do  not  try  to  under- 
stand it.  It  will  digest  itself.  It  did  so  when  you  were 


jo  Charles  Kingsley 

a baby.  Look  round  you  much.  Think  little  and  read 
less.  Never  give  way  to  reveries.  Have  always  some 
employment  in  your  hands.  When  you  are  doing  nothing 
at  night,  pray  and  praise  ! . . . 

“ See  how  much  a day  can  do  ! I have  since  nine  this 
morning,  cut  wood  for  an  hour ; spent  an  hour  and  more 
in  prayer  and  humiliation,  and  thereby  established  a 
chastened  but  happy  tone,  which  lasts  till  now ; written 
six  or  seven  pages  of  a difficult  part  of  my  essay  ; taught 
in  the  school ; thought  over  many  things  while  walking ; 
gone  round  two-thirds  of  the  parish  visiting  and  doctoring  ; 
and  written  all  this.  Such  days  are  lives  — and  happy 
ones.  One  has  no  time  to  be  miserable,  and  one  is 
ashamed  to  invent  little  sorrows  for  one’s  self  while  one 
is  trying  to  relieve  such  grief  in  others  as  would  kill  us , 
if  we  gave  way  to  fancies  about  them. 

“ Pray  over  every  truth,  for  though  the  renewed  heart 
is  not  ‘ desperately  wicked/  it  is  quite  ‘ deceitful  ’ enough 
to  become  so,  if  God  be  forgotten  a moment ! . . . 
Keep  a commonplace  book,  and  put  into  it,  not  only 
facts  and  thoughts,  but  observations  on  form,  and  color, 
and  nature,  and  little  sketches,  even  to  the  form  of  beau- 
tiful leaves.  They  will  all  have  their  charm,  all  do  their 
work  in  consolidating  your  ideas.  Put  everything  into  it. 
. . . Strive  to  put  every  idea  into  a tangible  form,  and 
write  it  down.  Distrust  every  idea  which  you  cannot  put 
into  words ; or  rather  distrust  your  own  conception  of  it 
— not  so  with  feelings.  Try  to  put  everything  in  its  place 
in  the  great  system  ...  seeing  the  realities  of  Heaven 
and  Earth.” 

In  speaking  of  this  time  to  a friend  placed  in 
somewhat  similar  circumstances,  he  writes  after  his 
marriage : 

“ I have  already  been  through  that  ordeal  of  separation 
which  now  seems  to  threaten  you ; but  my  experience 


Working  and  Waiting  71 

may  be  valuable  to  you  — God  knows  how  valuable  it 
was  to  me  ; and  that  I rank  that  period  of  misery  as  the 
most  priceless  passage  of  my  whole  existence.  It  taught 
me  to  know  marriage  for  a state  so  spiritual,  so  paradisaic, 
that,  like  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  it  is  only  through  much 
tribulation,  through  the  purifying  fire  of  affliction,  man 
can  be  fitted  to  enter  into  it.  That  separation  taught  me 
to  look  at  marriage  as  a boon  from  God,  to  be  gained  from 
Him  alone  by  earnest  prayer,  by  intense  repentance,  and 
complete  confession  of  youthful  sins.  It  taught  me  to 
know  that  providence  was  a reality,  and  prayer  the  highest 
sacrament ; that  to  the  Blessed  Lord  alone  we  must  look 
for  the  fulfilment  of  our  desires  ; that  these  desires,  which 
men  call  carnal,  are  truly  most  spiritual,  most  beloved  by 
Him,  and  that  He  Himself,  when  we  are  fit  for  our  bliss, 
will  work  what  the  world  might  call  a miracle,  if  necessary, 
to  join  us  and  those  whom  we  love.  All  this  I have  experi- 
enced — I know,  and  therefore  I speak.  I know  how  after 
long  misery,  during  which  filial  trust  in  God,  with  many 
inconsistencies  and  ‘ backslidings,’  was  my  only  support,  I 
gained  by  prayer  the  transcendental  and  super-rational  con- 
viction that  we  should  again  meet  within  a certain  period. 
I know  how  that  period  passed  on  and  on,  and  how  the 
night  grew  ever  darker  and  ever  more  hopeless,  until  — 
when  I was  on  the  point  of  black  despair  — within  a few 
days  of  the  expiration  of  the  period  which  I had  involun- 
tarily, and  as  it  were  by  inspiration,  fixed  — from  a quarter 
where  I least  expected  — by  means  of  those  who  had  been 
most  utterly  opposed  to  me,  suddenly  came  a ray  of  light 
— an  immediate  re-union  — and  from  that  moment  a run 
of  blessings  heaped  one  on  the  other,  as  if  the  merciful 
God  were  turned  prodigal  in  His  undeserved  love,  and 
here  I am.  Therefore,  take  heart,  my  friend,  only 
humble  yourself  utterly ; lie  still  and  say,  ‘ My  Father , 
Thy  will  be  done.’  And  why  shouldn’t  it  be  with  you 
as  it  has  been  with  me  ? 99 


CHAPTER  IV 


1842-1843 


Aged  23-24 


A Year  of  Sorrow  — Curate  Life— Letter  from  Colo- 
nel W.  — Brighter  Prospects  — Promise  of  Prefer- 
ment— Correspondence  Renewed  — The  Mystery  of 
Life  — Impulse  — Enthusiasm  — The  Pendulum  — Wan- 
dering Minstrels  — Leaves  Eversley. 


“ And  show 

That  life  is  not  as  idle  ore, 

But  iron  dug  from  central  gloom, 

And  heated  hot  with  burning  fears, 
And  dipped  in  baths  of  hissing  tears, 
And  batter’d  with  the  shocks  of  doom 

To  shape  and  use.” 


YEAR  passed  by  of  silence  and  self-discipline, 


hard  reading  and  parish  duties.  That  sor- 
row was  doing  its  work,  his  own  words  to  his 
parents  will  testify. 

“ . . . Christianity  heightens  as  well  as  deepens  the 
human  as  well  as  the  divine  affections.  I am  happy,  for 
the  less  hope,  the  more  faith.  . . . God  knows  what  is 
best  for  us,  and  very  lucky  that  He  does,  for  I am  sure 
we  do  not.  Continual  resignation,  at  last  I begin  to  find, 
is  the  secret  of  continual  strength.  ‘ Daily  dying, / as 
Behmen  interprets  it,  is  the  path  of  daily  living . . . 

His  mother  paid  him  a visit  in  the  autumn  of 
this  year,  and  thus  describes  his  home  : 


Tennyson. 


Curate  Life  73 

Eversley  : 1842.  — “ Here  I am,  in  a humble  cottage 
in  the  corner  of  a sunny  green,  a little  garden,  whose 
flower-beds  are  surrounded  with  tall  and  aged  box,  is 
fenced  in  from  the  path  with  a low  white  paling.  The 
green  is  gay  with  dogs,  and  pigs,  and  geese,  some  running 
frolic  races,  and  others  swimming  in  triumph  in  a glassy 
pond,  where  they  are  safe  from  all  intruders.  Every 
object  around  is  either  picturesque  or  happy,  fulfilling  in 
their  different  natures  the  end  of  their  creation.  . . . 
Surely  it  must  have  been  the  especial  providence  of  God 
that  directed  us  to  this  place  ! and  the  thought  of  this 
brightens  every  trial.  There  is  independence  in  every 
good  sense  of  the  word,  and  yet  no  loneliness.  The 
family  at  the  Brewery  are  devoted  to  Charles,  and  think 
they  cannot  do  enough  for  him.  The  dear  old  man  says 
he  has  been  praying  for  years  for  such  a time  to  come, 
and  that  Eversley  has  not  been  so  blessed  for  sixty  years. 
Need  I say  rejoice  with  me.  Here  I sit  surrounded  by 
your  books  and  little  things  which  speak  of  you.  . . 

During  his  first  year  of  curate  life  he  had  little 
society  outside  his  parish  except  at  Sandhurst, 
where  he  had  friends  in  the  Senior  department  of 
the  Military  College;  and  he  writes  to  an  old 
Cambridge  companion,  Mr.  Wood,  to  beg  for  a 
visit  in  his  solitude. 

“ Peter ! 

“ Whether  in  the  glaring  saloons  of  Almack’s,  or 
making  love  in  the  equestrian  stateliness  of  the  park,  or 
the  luxurious  recumbency  of  the  ottoman,  whether  break- 
fasting at  one,  or  going  to  bed  at  three,  thou  art  still 
Peter,  the  beloved  of  my  youth,  the  staff  of  my  academic 
days,  the  regret  of  my  parochial  retirement ! — Peter  ! I 
am  alone ! Around  me  are  the  everlasting  hills,  and  the 
everlasting  bores  of  the  country ! My  parish  is  peculiar 
for  nothing  but  want  of  houses  and  abundance  of  peat 
bogs ; my  parishioners  remarkable  only  for  aversion  to 


74  Charles  Kingsley 

education,  and  a predilection  for  fat  bacon.  I am  wast- 
ing my  sweetness  on  the  desert  air  — I say  my  sweetness, 
for  I have  given  up  smoking,  and  smell  no  more.  Oh, 
Peter,  Peter,  come  down  and  see  me  ! Oh  that  I could 
behold  your  head  towering  above  the  fir-trees  that  sur- 
round my  lonely  dwelling.  Take  pity  on  me  ! I am 
‘ like  a kitten  in  the  washhouse  copper  with  the  lid  on  ! 9 
And,  Peter,  prevail  on  some  of  your  friends  here  to  give 
me  a day’s  trout-fishing,  for  my  hand  is  getting  out  of 
practice.  But,  Peter,  I am,  considering  the  oscillations 
and  perplex  circumgurgitations  of  this  piece-meal  world, 
an  improved  man.  I am  much  more  happy,  much  more 
comfortable,  reading,  thinking,  and  doing  my  duty  — 
much  more  than  ever  I did  before  in  my  life.  Therefore 
I am  not  discontented  with  my  situation,  or  regretful  that 
I buried  my  first-class  in  a country  curacy,  like  the  girl 
who  shut  herself  up  in  a band-box  on  her  wedding  night 
{vide  Rogers’s  i Italy 7).  And  my  lamentations  are  not 
general  (for  I do  not  want  an  inundation  of  the  froth  and 
tide- wash  of  Babylon  the  Great),  but  particular,  being 
solely  excited  by  want  of  thee,  oh,  Peter,  who  art  very 
pleasant  to  me,  and  wouldst  be  more  so  if  thou  wouldst 
come  and  eat  my  mutton,  and  drink  my  wine,  and  admire 
my  sermons,  some  Sunday  at  Eversley. 

“ Your  faithful  friend, 

“ Boanerges  Roar-at-the-Clods.” 

His  friend  responded  to  his  call.  “ I paid  him 
a "visit,”  he  says,  “ at  Eversley,  where  he  lived  in  a 
thatched  cottage.  So  roughly  was  he  lodged  that 
I recollect  taking  him  some  game,  which  was  dried 
to  a cinder  in  the  cooking  and  quite  spoiled;  but 
he  was  as  happy  as  if  he  were  in  a palace.  . . 

Another  friend,  Colonel  W.,  thus  recalls  their 
intercourse : 

. . My  memory  often  runs  back  to  the  days  at 
Sandhurst,  when  I used  to  meet  dear  Kingsley  continually 


Brighter  Prospects  75 

in  his  little  curate  rooms,  at  the  corner  of  the  Green  at 
Eversley;  when  he  told  me  of  his  attachment  to  one 
whom  he  feared  he  should  never  be  able  to  marry,  and 
that  he  supposed  that  he  should  live  the  rest  of  his  life 
reading  old  books,  and  knocking  his  head  against  the 
ceiling  of  his  room,  like  a caged  bird.  And  well  I re- 
member a particular  Sunday,  when  walking  with  him  to 
his  church  in  the  afternoon,  having  dined  with  him  at 
mid-day.  It  was  a lovely  afternoon  in  the  autumn  — 
passing  through  the  corn  in  sheaf,  the  bells  ringing,  and 
people,  young  and  old,  gathering  together  near  the 
church.  — He,  looking  down  on  the  Rectory-house,  said 
to  me  — ‘ How  hard  it  is  to  go  through  life  without  wish- 
ing for  the  goods  of  others  ! Look  at  the  Rectory  ! Oh, 
if  I were  there  with  a wife,  how  happy/  &c.  God 
seemed  to  hear  the  desire  of  His  creature,  for  when  the 
next  year’s  corn  was  in  sheaf,  you  were  with  him  at  the 
Rectory.  And  he  has  told  me  in  after  years  that  his  life 
with  you  was  one  of  constantly  increasing  love.  I called 
at  his  cottage  one  morning,  and  I found  him  almost 
beside  himself,  stamping  his  things  into  a portmanteau. 
‘ What  is  the  matter,  dear  Kingsley  ?’  — ‘ I am  engaged. 
I am  going  to  see  her  now  — to-day .’  I was  so  glad, 
and  left  him  to  his  joy.  I loved  Kingsley  as  well  as  man 
can  love  man.  . . 

In  September,  1843,  his  prospects  brightened; 
for,  through  the  kindness  of  Lord  Sidney  Osborne, 
a relation  of  his  future  wife,  Lord  Portman  prom- 
ised him  a small  living,  and  in  the  mean  time 
recommended  him  for  the  curacy  of  Pimperne, 
near  Blandford,  which,  with  a good  house,  would 
soon  be  vacant.  The  correspondence,  which  had 
dropped  for  a year,  was  now  resumed. 

Helston  : September , 1843.  — “•  • • What  a thought 
it  is  that  there  is  a God  ! a Father,  a King  ! a Husband 


j6  Charles  Kingsley 

not  of  individuals,  that  is  a Popish  fancy,  which  the 
Puritans  have  adopted  — but  of  the  Church  — of  col- 
lective humanity.  Let  us  be  content  to  be  members ; 
let  us  be,  if  we  may,  the  feet,  lowest,  hardest  worked, 
trodden  on,  bleeding,  brought  into  harshest  contact  with 
the  evil  world ! Still  we  are  members  of  Christ's 
Church  ! . . . How  fearfully  and  wonderfully  we  are 
made.  I seem  all  spirit,  and  my  every  nerve  is  a musical 
chord  trembling  in  the  wind  ! . . . and  yet  I am  sane, 
and  it  is  all  real.  I could  find  no  vent  for  my  feelings, 
this  afternoon,  but  by  bursting  out  into  the  Te  Deum,  to 
no  known  chant,  but  a strange  involuntary  melody  which 
told  all.  If  I could  but  sing  now ! I used  to  know  only 
melancholy  songs.  I wandered  about  moaning  in  one 
eternal  minor  key.  ...  In  heaven  we  shall  sing  involun- 
tarily. All  speech  will  be  song  ! . . . Pray  night  and 
day,  very  quietly , like  a little  weary  child,  to  the  good 
and  loving  God,  for  everything  you  want,  in  body  as  well 
as  soul  — the  least  thing  as  well  as  the  greatest.  Nothing 
is  too  much  to  ask  God  for  — nothing  too  great  for  Him 
to  grant : Glory  be  to  Thee,  O Lord  ! — and  try  to  thank 
Him  for  everything.  ...  I sometimes  feel  that  eternity 
will  be  too  short  to  praise  God  in,  if  it  was  only  for  mak- 
ing us  live  at  all ! . . . What  blessings  we  have  had ! 
How  we  must  work  in  return  for  them.  Not  under 
the  enslaving  sense  of  paying  off  an  infinite  debt,  but 
with  the  delight  of  gratitude,  glorying  that  we  are  God’s 
debtors.  . . . 

“ . . . What  an  awful  weapon  prayer  is ! Mark  xi. 
24  saved  me  from  madness  in  my  twelve  months'  sor- 
rows ; and  it  is  so  simple,  and  so  wide  — wide  as  eternity, 
simple  as  light,  true  as  God  himself ; and  yet  it  is  just  the 
last  text  of  Scripture  which  is  talked  of,  or  preached  on, 
or  used  ! Verily, 6 when  the  Son  of  Man  cometh  shall  He 
find  faith  on  the  earth  ? ? 


The  Mystery  of  Life  77 

u . . . You  must  love  these  Cornish  men ! they  are 
the  noblest  men  in  England  — strong,  simple-hearted, 
united,  working  — ‘ One  and  all/  is  their  motto.  Glori- 
ous West  country ! I told  some  of  them  the  other  day 
that  if  I ever  married  it  should  be  a Cornish  woman. 
. . .You  must  not  despise  their  accent,  for  it  is  the 
remains  of  a purer  and  nobler  dialect  than  our  own,  and 
you  will  be  surprised  to  hear  me  when  I am  merry,  burst 
out  into  pure  unintelligible"  Devonshire ; when  I am  very 
childish,  my  own  country’s  language  comes  to  me  like  a 
dream  of  old  days  ! . . 

Eversley  : October . — “ About  the  wind’s  moaning. 

It  is  a great  mystery.  All  nations  have  fancied  that  there 
may  be  evil  spirits  in  it.  It  used  to  terrify  me  as  a child, 
and  make  me  inexpressibly  melancholy  as  a youth.  But 
no  bad  weather  now  has  a lowering  effect  on  me  — but 
rather  a calming  one.  Of  course  some  of  this  is  to  be 
attributed  to  my  familiarity  with  night  in  all  its  characters. 
And  the  moaning  of  the  wind  now  seems  to  me  the  groan- 
ing and  the  travailing  of  the  whole  creation,  under  the 
purifying  changes,  bitter  and  destructive,  yet  salutary,  of 
storms  and  thunder  clouds ! In  the  renewed  earth  there 
will  be  no  winter,  no  storms  ! Perpetual,  calm  day ; with, 
perhaps,  just  change  enough  for  incident  — if  incident  be 
not  a necessity  for  fallen  nature  only ! . . .” 

“ . . . That  is  no  metaphor , when  the  Psalmist  calls 
on  all  things  to  praise  God,  from  the  monsters  of  the 
deep  to  i worms  and  feathered  fowls  ! ’ They  are  all 
witnesses  of  God,  and  every  emotion  of  pleasure  which 
they  feel  is  an  act  of  praise  to  Him ! I dare  not  say  an 
unconscious  act ! This  is  not  imagination,  for  imagina- 
tion deadens  the  feelings  (so  men  say,  but  I do  not  un- 
derstand— that  word  imagination  is  so  much  misused), 
but  /,  when  I feel  thus,  seem  to  see  all  the  universe  at 
one  glance,  instinct  with  The  Spirit , and  feel  ready  to 
turn  to  the  first  beggar  I meet,  and  say,  ‘ Come,  my 


78  Charles  Kingsley 

brother,  all  this  is  thine,  as  well  as  mine ! Come,  and  1 
will  show  thee  thy  goodly  heritage  ! ’ Oh,  the  yearning 
when  one  sees  a beautiful  thing  to  make  some  one  else 
see  it  too  ! Surely  it  is  of  Heaven  \ ...  1 Every  crea- 
ture of  God  is  good,  if  it  be  sanctified  with  prayer  and 
thanksgiving  ! ’ This,  to  me,  is  the  master  truth  of  Chris- 
tianity ! I cannot  make  people  see  it,  but  it  seems  to  me 
that  it  was  to  redeem  man  and  the  earth  that  Christ  was 
made  Man,  and  used  the  earth  ! . . . Can  there  be  a 
more  glorious  truth  for  us  to  carry  out?  one  which  will 
lead  us  more  into  all  love  and  beauty  and  purity  in 
heaven  and  earth  ? one  which  must  have  God’s  light  of 
love  shining  on  it  at  every  step,  if  we  are  to  see  it  through 
the  maze  of  our  own  hearts  and  the  artificialities  of  the 
world?  . . . All  the  events  of  our  life,  all  the  workings 
of  our  hearts  seem  strangely  to  point  to  this  one  idea. 
As  1 walk  the  fields,  the  trees  and  flowers  and  birds,  and 
the  motes  of  rack  floating  in  the  sky,  seem  to  cry  to  me  : 
‘Thou  knowest  us  ! Thou  knowest  we  have  a meaning, 
and  sing  a heaven’s  harmony  by  night  and  day  ! Do  us 
justice ! Spell  our  enigma,  and  go  forth  and  tell  thy 
fellows  that  we  are  their  brethren,  that  their  spirit  is  our 
spirit,  their  Saviour  our  Saviour,  their  God  our  God ! ’ 

“ And  every  man’s  and  woman’s  eyes  too,  they  cry  to 
me,  they  cry  to  me  through  dim  and  misty  smugglings  : 
‘Oh  do  us  justice!  we  have  human  hearts  within!  we 
are  not  walking  statues ! we  can  love,  we  can  worship, 
we  have  God’s  spirit  in  us,  but  we  cannot  believe  it  our- 
selves, or  make  others  believe  it ! Oh  teach  us ! and 
teach  others  to  yearn  for  love  and  peace  ! Oh  make  us 
One.  All  the  world-generations  have  but  One  voice  ! 
How  can  we  become  One  ? at  harmony  with  God  and 
God’s  universe ! Tell  us  this,  and  the  dreary,  dark  mys- 
tery of  life,  the  bright  sparkling  mystery  of  life,  the  cloud- 
checkered,  sun-and-shower  mystery  of  life  is  solved ! for 
we  shall  have  found  one  home  and  one  brotherhood,  and 
happy  faces  will  greet  us  wherever  we  move,  and  we 


Impulse  79 

shall  see  God ! see  Him  everywhere,  and  be  ready  to 
wait  for  the  renewal,  for  the  Kingdom  of  Christ  per- 
fected ! We  came  from  Eden,  all  of  us : show  us  how 
we  may  return,  hand  in  hand,  husband  and  wife,  parent 
and  child,  gathered  together  from  the  earth  and  the  sea, 
from  the  past  and  the  future,  from  one  creed  and  another, 
and  take  our  journey  into  a far  country,  which  is  yet  this 
earth.  A world-migration  to  the  heavenly  Canaan, 
through  the  Red  Sea  of  Death,  back  again  to  the 
land  which  was  given  to  our  forefathers,  and  is  ours 
even  now,  could  we  but  find  it ! ” 

“ I want  to  talk  to  you  about  Impulse.  That  word,  in 
its  common  use,  is  one  of  my  enemies.  Its  proper  and 
original  meaning,  if  it  has  any,  is  the  exciting  effect  of  the 
will  (the  spiritual  part)  on  the  flesh.  And  where  a man 
acts  from  impulse,  it  is  because  his  flesh  is  at  harmony 
with,  and  obeys,  his  spirit.  I know  what  impulse  is,  when 
it  has  driven  me,  in  putting  out  a fire,  through  blazing 
rafters  and  under  falling  roofs,  by  an  awful  energy  which 
must  be  obeyed.  Now  there  is  nothing,  in  this,  sinful  in 
itself.  On  the  contrary,  if  the  will  which  drives  be  a 
spiritual  and  holy  will,  it  is  the  highest  state  of  harmony 
and  health,  the  rare  moments  of  life,  in  which  our  life  is 
not  manifold,  but  one  — body  and  soul  and  spirit  work- 
ing together  ! Such  impulses  have  led  martyrs  to  the 
stake.  Such  an  impulse  kept  the  two  women-martyrs  at 
Coventry  in  the  midst  of  the  flames  loose  and  unbound ! 
Such  an  impulse  drove  Luther  on  through  years  and 
years,  till  he  overthrew  the  Popedom  ! Such  impulses 
are  exactly  what  the  world  despises,  and  crushes  as  en- 
thusiasm, because  they  are  opposed  to  the  cold,  selfish  work 
of  the  brute  intellect  — because  they  make  men  self-sacri- 
ficing, because  they  awaken  all  that  childish  earnestness 
and  simplicity,  and  gushing  tears,  and  passionate  smiles, 
which  are  witnesses  and  reproofs  to  the  world  of  what  she 
has  lost,  and  therefore  is  trying  to  fancy  she  can  do  without ! 


80  Charles  Kingsley 

Yet  the  world  will  devour  the  most  exciting  works  of  fiction 
— thereby  confessing  that  ‘ romance  7 and  c enthusiasm  7 
have  a beauty,  even  to  her  — but  one  which  she  hates  to 
see  practised,  because  her  deeds  are  evil,  and  her  spiritual 
will  is  dead,  or  dying  ! The  fault  of  impulse  is,  that  one’s 
whole  life  is  not  impulse  ! that  we  let  worldly  wisdom 
close  again  over  the  glimpse  of  heaven-simplicity  in  us, 
and  so  are  inconsistent ! and  so  we  acknowledge  (even 
the  most  religious),  the  world’s  ways  to  be  our  general 
rule,  and  impulse  our  exception ; discord  our  practice, 
harmony  our  exception  ; and  then  the  world,  who  is  very 
glad  after  all  to  get  religion  on  her  side,  says  and  truly, 
Oh ! these  religieux  do  hold  our  principles  as  the  great 
principles,  and  themselves  avoid  and  despise  ‘enthusiasm7 ! 

“ People  smile  at  the  ‘ enthusiasm  of  youth 7 — that 
enthusiasm  which  they  themselves  secretly  look  back  at 
with  a sigh,  perhaps  unconscious  that  it  is  partly  their  own 
fault  that  they  ever  lost  it.  Is  it  not  strange,  that  the 
only  persons  who  appear  to  me  to  carry  to  the  grave  with 
them  the  joyousness,  simplicity,  and  lovingness  and  trust 
of  children,  are  the  most  exalted  Christians  ? Think  of  St. 
John,  carried  into  the  Church  at  Smyrna,  at  the  age  of 
ninety-nine,  and  with  his  dying  breath  repeating  the  $ame 
simple  words,  6 Little  children,  love  one  another.7  77 

cc . . . As  to  self-improvement,  the  true  Catholic  mode 
of  learning  is,  to  ‘ prove  all  things,7  as  far  as  we  can  without 
sin  or  the  danger  of  it,  and  ‘ hold  fast  that  which  is  good.7 
Let  us  never  be  afraid  of  trying  anything,  though  copied 
from  people  of  different  opinions  to  our  own.  And  let 
us  never,  never  be  afraid  of  changing  our  opinions  — 
not  our  knowledge.  If  we  should  find  fasting  unsuc- 
cessful, we  will  simply  give  it  up  — and  so  on  with  all 
practices  and  opinions  not  expressed  in  Scripture.  That 
is  a form  of  pride  which  haunts  the  more  powerful  minds, 
the  unwillingness  to  go  back  from  one’s  declared  opinion  : 
but  it  is  not  found  in  great  child-like  geniuses.  Fools 


The  Pendulum  81 

may  hold  fast  to  their  scanty  stock  through  life,  and  we 
must  be  very  cautious  in  drawing  them  from  it  — for 
where  can  they  supply  its  place  ? Therefore,  there  is  no 
more  unloving,  heartless  man-murderer,  than  the  man  who 
goes  about  trying,  for  the  display  of  his  own  4 talents/  to 
shake  people  in  their  belief,  even  when  that  belief  is  not 
sound.  Better  believe  in  ghosts  4 with  no  heads  and  jack- 
boots  on/  like  my  Eversley  people,  than  believe  in  nothing 
but  self!  Therefore  Maurice’s  loving,  Christian  rule  is, 
4 Never  take  away  from  a man  even  the  shadow  of  a 
spiritual  truth,  unless  you  can  give  him  substance  in 
return/  . . . But  those  who  discover  much  truth  — 
ay,  who  make  perhaps  only  one  truth  really  their  own, 
a living  integral  law  of  their  spirits  — must,  in  develop- 
ing it,  pass  through  many  changes  of  opinion.  They  must 
rise,  and  fall  back,  and  rise  higher  again,  and  fall  and 
rise  again,  till  they  reach  the  level  table-land  of  truth, 
and  can  look  down  on  men  toiling  and  stumbling  in  the 
misty  valleys,  where  the  rising  sunlight  has  not  yet  found 
its  way.  Or  perhaps,  their  own  minds  will  oscillate,  like 
a pendulum,  between  Dualism  and  Unitarianism,  or  High 
Church  and  Low  Church,  until  the  oscillations  become 
gradually  smaller,  and  subside  into  the  Rest  of  Truth  ! — 
the  peace  which  passes  understanding  ! I fancy  it  is  a 
law,  that  the  greater  the  mind,  the  stronger  the  heart,  the 
larger  will  the  oscillations  be,  but  the  less  they  will  be 
visible  to  the  world,  because  the  wise  man  will  not  act 
outwardly  upon  his  opinions  until  they  have  become 
knowledge,  and  his  mind  is  in  a state  of  rest.  This 
I think  the  true,  the  only  doctrine  of  Reserve  — reserve 
of  our  own  fancies,  not  of  immutable  truth.  And  one 
thing  more  I do  see  — that  as  with  the  pendulum,  those 
oscillations  are  caused  by  the  very  force  which  at  last 
produces  rest ; God’s  Spirit,  working  on  a man,  draws 
him  down  towards  rest,  and  he,  by  the  elastic  legerete  of 
the  flesh,  swings  past  the  proper  point  into  the  opposite 
extreme,  and  has  to  be  drawn  back  again  down.  And 

VOL.  i. — 6 


82  Charles  Kingsley 

another  thing  I see  — that  the  pressure  of  the  surround- 
ing air,  which  helps  the  force  of  gravity  in  producing  rest, 
is  a true  emblem  of  the  force  of  healthy  ties  and  duties, 
and  the  circumstances  of  God’s  universe  — those  things 
which  stand  round . . . . Let  a man  once  break  free 
from  them,  and  from  God’s  Spirit  by  self-will  or  heart- 
iessness,  and  he  will  oscillate,  as  the  pendulum  would, 
for  ever ! He  will  become  like  one  of  the  ancient 
philosophers  — like  the  gnostics,  like  the  enthusiasts 
(ascetic-mystics  often)  of  every  age.  . . 

Eversley:  October  27 th.  — . . As  to  ( Honor 

all  men,’  you  are  quite  right.  Every  man  should  be 
honored  as  God’s  image,  in  the  sense  in  which  Novalis 
says  — that  we  touch  Heaven  when  we  lay  our  hand  on 
a human  body  ! . . . The  old  Homeric  Greeks  I think 
felt  that,  and  acted  up  to  it,  more  than  any  nation.  The 
Patriarchs  too  seem  to  have  had  the  same  feeling.  . . . 
I have  been  making  a fool  of  myself  for  the  last  ten 
minutes,  according  to  the  world’s  notion  of  folly,  for  there 
have  been  some  strolling  fiddlers  under  the  window,  and 
I have  been  listening  and  crying  like  a child.  Some  quick 
music  is  so  inexpressibly  mournful.  It  seems  just  like 
one’s  own  feelings  — exultation  and  action,  with  the 
remembrance  of  past  sorrow  wailing  up,  yet  without 
bitterness,  tender  in  its  shrillness,  through  the  mingled 
tide  of  present  joy ; and  the  notes  seem  thoughts  — 
thoughts  pure  of  words,  and  a spirit  seems  to  call  to  me 
in  them  and  cry/ Hast  thou  not  felt  all  this?’  And  I 
start  when  I find  myself  answering  unconsciously,  ‘ Yes, 
yes,  I know  it  all ! ’ Surely  we  are  a part  of  all  we  see 
and  hear  ! And  then  the  harmony  thickens,  and  all  dis- 
tinct sound  is  pressed  together  and  absorbed  in  a confused 
paroxysm  of  delight,  where  still  the  female  treble  and  the 
male  base  are  distinct  for  a moment,  and  then  one  again 
— absorbed  into  each  other’s  being  — sweetened  and 
strengthened  by  each  other’s  melody.  . . . Why  should 

I not  cry?  Those  men  have  unconsciously  told  me  my 

1 


Wandering  Minstrels  83 

own  tale  ! why  should  I not  love  them  and  pray  for  them  ? 
Are  they  not  my  benefactors?  Have  they  not  given  me 
more  than  food  and  drink?  Let  us  never  despise  the 
wandering  minstrel.  He  is  an  unconscious  witness  for 
God’s  harmony  — a preacher  of  the  world-music  — the 
power  of  sweet  sounds,  which  is  a link  between  every  age 
and  race  — the  language  which  all  can  understand,  though 
few  can  speak.  And  who  knows  what  tender  thoughts 
his  own  sweet  music  stirs  within  him,  though  he  eat  in 
pot-houses,  and  sleep  in  barns  ! Ay,  thoughts  too  deep 
for  words  are  in  those  simple  notes  — why  should  not  we 
feel  them  ? . . 

“ . . . I have  heard  from  Dr.  W.  this  morning,  and  he 
asks  me  to  take  possession  of  Pimperne  on  April  6th. 
So  that  is  settled.  I am  not,  and  will  not  (please  God 
to  help  me,  as  He  has  hitherto)  be  anxious  about  any- 
thing. Why  should  we  weary  out  the  little  life  we  have 
left  in  us,  when  He  has  promised  to  care  for  us,  and 
make  us  renew  our  youth,  and  heap  us  with  everything 
that  is  good  for  us ! ...  I look  forward  with  quiet 
certainty  of  hope,  day  and  night ; believing,  though  I 
can  see  but  little  day,  that  all  this  tangled  web  will  resolve 
itself  into  golden  threads  of  twined,  harmonious  life, 
guiding  both  us,  and  those  we  love,  together,  through 
this  life  to  that  resurrection  of  the  flesh,  when  we  shall 
at  last  know  the  reality  and  the  fulness  of  life  and  love. 
Even  so  come,  Lord  Jesus  ! 

“ . . . I am  full  of  plans  for  Pimperne,  or  wherever 
else  God  may  place  us.  We  must  have  a regular  rule  of 
life,  not  so  as  to  become  a law,  but  a custom.  . . . 
Family  prayers  before  breakfast;  8.30  to  10,  household 
matters ; 10  to  1,  studying  divinity,  or  settle  parish 
accounts  and  business  — our  doors  open  for  poor  parish 
visitants  ; between  1 and  5,  go  out  in  all  weathers,  to  visit 
sick  and  poor  and  to  teach  in  the  school ; in  the  evening 
we  will  draw,  and  feed  the  intellect  and  the  fancy,  o . , 


84  Charles  Kingsley 

“ We  must  devote  from  9 to  12  on  Monday  mornings 
to  casting  up  our  weekly  bills  and  accounts,  and  make  a 
rule  never  to  mention  them,  if  possible,  at  any  other  time  ; 
and  never  to  talk  of  household  matters,  unless  urgent,  but 
between  9 and  10  in  the  morning;  nor  of  parish  business 
in  the  evening.  I have  seen  the  gene  and  misery  which 
not  following  some  such  rule  brings  down  ! We  must 
pray  for  a spirit  of  order  and  regularity  and  economy  in 
the  least  things.  . . . 

“ This  is  a very  homely  letter,  but  not  an  outward  one ; 
for  all  the  business  I have  talked  of  has  a spiritual  mean- 
ing. If  we  can  but  keep  alive  a spiritual  meaning  in 
every  little  action,  we  shall  have  no  need  to  write  poetry 
— our  life  will  be  a real  poem.  ...  I have  been  think- 
ing of  how  we  are  to  order  our  establishment  at  Pimperne. 
While  we  are  in  Somersetshire  (next  January,  a season  of 
solemn  and  delightful  preparation  for  our  work)  we  will 
hunt  out  all  the  texts  in  the  Bible  about  masters  and  ser- 
vants, to  form  rules  upon  them  ; and  our  rules  we  will 
alter  and  improve  upon  in  time,  as  we  find  out  more  and 
more  of  the  true  relation  in  which  we  ought  to  stand  to 
those  whom  God  has  placed  under  us.  ...  I feel  more 
and  more  that  the  new  principle  of  considering  a servant 
as  a trader,  who  sells  you  a certain  amount  of  work  for  a 
certain  sum  of  money,  is  a devil’s  principle,  and  that  we 
must  have  none  of  it,  but  return  as  far  as  we  can  to  the 
patriarchal  and  feudal  spirit  towards  them.  . . } 
And  religion,  that  is,  truth,  shall  be  the  only  thing  in  our 
house.  All  things  must  be  made  to  tend  to  it;  and  if 
they  cannot  be  made  to  tend  to  God’s  glory,  the  belief  in, 
and  knowledge  of  the  spiritual  world,  and  the  duties  and 

1 He  carried  out  this  principle  in  daily  life,  and  at  his  death  all 
the  servants  in  his  house  had  lived  with  him  from  seventeen  to 
twenty-six  years,  and  would  have  given  their  lives  for  their 
master.  It  is  only  just  to  add  that  the  mistress  of  the  house  was 
as  much  beloved  as  the  master,  and  that  they  remained  with  her 
after  his  death  as  tried  and  valued  friends  of  the  family  rather 
than  servants.  (M.  K.) 


Leaves  Eversley  85 

ties  of  humanity,  they  must  be  turned  out  of  door  as  part 
of  ‘ the  world.’  One  thing  we  must  keep  up,  if  we  intend 
to  be  anything  like  witnesses  for  God,  in  perhaps  the 
most  sensual  generation  since  Alaric  destroyed  Rome,  — I 
mean  the  continual  open  verbal  reference  of  everything, 
even  to  the  breaking  of  a plate,  to  God  and  God’s  prov- 
idence, as  the  Easterns  do.  The  reason  why  God’s  name 
is  so  seldom  in  people’s  mouths  is  not  that  they  reverence 
Him,  as  they  say,  too  much  to  talk  of  Him  (!!!),  but 
because  they  do  not  think  of  Him  ! 

“ About  our  Parish.  No  clergyman  knows  less  about 
the  working  of  a parish  than  I do ; but  one  thing  I do 
know,  that  I have  to  preach  Jesus  Christ  and  Him  cruci- 
fied, and  to  be  instant  in  that,  in  season  and  out  of  sea- 
son and  at  all  risks.  . . . And  therefore  I pray  daily  for 
the  Spirit  of  love  to  guide  us,  and  the  Spirit  of  earnestness 
to  keep  us  at  work.  For  our  work  must  be  done  by  pray- 
ing for  our  people,  by  preaching  to  them,  in  church  and  out 
of  church  (for  all  instruction  is  preaching  — vide  Hooker) 
— by  leading  them  to  pray  and  worship  in  the  liturgy, 
and  by  setting  them  an  example  ; — an  example  in  every 
look,  word,  and  motion,  — in  the  paying  of  a bill,  the 
hiring  of  a servant,  the  reproving  of  a child. 

u We  will  have  no  innovations  in  ceremony.  But  we 
will  not  let  public  worship  become  ‘ dead  bones.’  We 
will  strive  and  pray,  day  and  night,  till  we  put  life  into  it, 
till  our  parish  feels  that  God  is  the  great  Idea,  and  that 
all  things  are  in  Him,  and  He  in  all  things.  The  local 
means,  to  which  so  much  importance  is  attached  nowa- 
days, by  those  very  sects  who  pretend  to  despise  outward 
instruments,  I mean  the  schools,  charities,  &c.,  I know 
nothing  of,  in  Pimperne.  But  we  must  attend  to  them 
(not  alter  them),  and  make  them  tools  for  our  work,  which 
is  to  teach  men  that  there  is  a God,  and  that  nothing 
done  without  Him  is  done  at  all,  but  a mere  sham  and 
makeshift.  We  must  attend  the  schools  and  superintend 
the  teaching,  going  round  to  the  different  classes,  and  not 


86  Charles  Kingsley 

hearing  them  to  the  letter,  but  trying  by  a few  seasonable 
words  to  awaken  them  to  the  spirit ; this  is  the  distinction 
which  is  so  neglected  between  the  duty  of  the  parson  and 
his  wife,  and  that  of  the  schoolmaster  and  mistress.  . . . 
The  Church  Catechism  must  be  the  main  point  of  instruc- 
tion. Of  the  Bible,  the  Proverbs  and  the  Gospels,  with 
parts  picked  from  the  leading  points  of  Old  Testament 
history  are  all  they  need  know.  They  will  soon  learn  the 
rest,  if  they  can  master  the  real  meaning  and  spirit  of 
Solomon  and  St.  John.  Few  have  done  that,  and  there- 
fore the  Bible  is  a sealed  book  to  the  very  people  who 
swear  by  it,  /.  e .,  by  some  twenty  texts  in  it  which  lay 
down  their  favorite  doctrines  plainly  enough  to  be 
patched  into  a system,  and  those  not  understood  skin 
deep.  Let  us  observe  the  Ember  days,  . . . praying 
over  the  sins  of  the  clergy,  one’s  own  especially,  . . „ 
entreating  God’s  mercy  on  the  country,  as  children  of  a 
land  fast  hurrying  to  ruin  in  her  mad  love  of  intellectual- 
ity, mammonism,  and  false  liberty ! . . . I see  the 
dawn  of  better  knowledge.  Puseyism  is  a struggle  after 
it.  It  has  failed  — already  failed,  because  unsound  ; but 
the  answer  which  it  found  in  ten  thousand  hearts  shows 
that  men  are  yearning  for  better  things  than  money,  or 
dogmas,  and  that  God’s  Spirit  has  not  left  us.  Maurice 
is  a struggle  after  it  — Thomas  Carlyle  is  a struggle  — all 
more  or  less  sound,  towards  true  Christianity,  and  there- 
fore true  national  prosperity.  But  will  they  hear  the 
voices  which  warn  them  ? . . . Now  I must  bid  good 
night,  and  read  my  psalms  and  lessons  and  pray.  . . 

“ . . . I must  write  to  you,  for  my  heart  is  full.  I 
have  been  thinking  over  the  great  question  — How  we 
are  to  learn  and  what  we  are  to  learn  ? Are  we  to  follow 
blindly  in  the  steps  of  others?  No!  Have  they  not 
thought  and  acted  for  1800  years?  and  see  what  has 
come  of  it ! How  little  is  known  — how  little  is  done  — 
how  little  love  there  is!  And  yet  must  we  not  remember 


Leaves  Eversley  87 

that  this  dissatisfaction  at  existing  evil  (the  feeling  of  all 
young  and  ardent  minds),  this  struggle  to  escape  from  the 
4 circumstance  ’ of  the  evil  world,  has  a carnal  counterfeit 
— the  love  of  novelty,  and  self-will,  and  self-conceit, 
which  may  thrust  us  down  into  the  abysses  of  misrule  and 
uncertainly ; as  it  has  done  such  men  as  Shelley,  and 
Byron,  and  others ; trying  vainly  every  loophole,  beating 
against  the  prison  bars  of  an  imperfect  system ; neither 
degraded  enough  to  make  themselves  a fool’s  paradise 
within  it,  nor  wise  enough  to  escape  from  it  through 
Christ,  ‘ the  door  into  the  sheepfold,’  to  return  when  they 
will,  and  bring  others  with  them  into  the  serene  empyrean 
of  spiritual  truth  — truth  which  explains,  and  arranges,  and 
hallows,  and  subdues  everything? 

u We  must  forth,  we  must  live  above  the  world,  if  we 
would  wish  to  enjoy  the  pure  humanity  which  it  fetters. 
And  how?  We  cannot  go  without  a guide,  that  were 
self-conceited  ; but  what  guide  shall  we  take  ? Oh,  I am 
sick  of  doctors  and  divines  ! Books  1 there  is  no  end  of 
them ; mud,  fire,  acids,  alkalies,  every  foreign  ingredient 
contaminating  pure  truth.  Shall  we  listen  to  the  voice  of 
God’s  spirit  alone?  Yes!  but  where?  Has  He  not 
spoken  to  those  very  book-makers  ? And  hath  not  every 
man  his  own  gift?  Each  hero  the  appointed  witness  of 
some  peculiar  truth?  Then,  must  we  plunge  again  into 
that  vast,  muddy,  blind,  contradictory  book-ocean?  No  ! 
Is  there  not  one  immutable  book?  One  pure  written 
wisdom?  The  Bible,  speaking  of  God’s  truth  in  words 
meant  for  men.  There  may  be  other  meanings  in  that 
book  besides  the  plain  one.  But  this  I will  believe,  that 
whatever  mysticism  the  mystic  may  find  there,  the  simple 
human  being,  the  lover  of  his  wife,  the  father  of  children, 
the  lover  of  God’s  earth,  glorying  in  matter  and  humanity, 
not  for  that  which  they  are,  but  that  which  they  ought  to 
be  and  will  be,  will  find  in  the  Bible  the  whole  mystery 
solved  — an  answer  to  every  riddle,  a guide  in  every  diffi- 
culty. Let  us  read  the  Bible  as  we  never  read  it  before. 


88  ^Charles  Kingsley 

Let  us  read  every  word,  ponder  every  word ; first  in  its 
plain  human  sense  — then,  if  in  after  years  we  can  see' any 
safe  law  or  rule  by  which  we  may  find  out  its  hidden 
meaning  (beside  the  mystic  of  a vague  and  lawless 
imagination,  which  makes  at  last  everything  true  to  him 
who  thinks  it  so,  and  all  uncertain,  because  all  depends 
upon  accidental  fancy,  and  private  analogies)  ; — if  we  can 
find  a rule,  let  us  use  it,  and  search  into  the  deep  things 
of  God,  not  from  men’s  theories,  but  from  His  own  words. 
I do  see  glimmers  of  a rule,  I see  that  it  is  possible  to  find 
a hidden  meaning  in  Scripture  — a spiritual,  catholic, 
universal  application  of  each  word  — that  all  knowledge 
lies  in  the  Bible ; but  my  rule  seems  as  yet  simple, 
logical,  springing  from  universal  reason,  not  from  private 
fancy.  ...  In  the  present  day  a struggle  is  coming. 
A question  must  be  tried  — Is  intellectual  Science,  or  the 
Bible,  truth;  and  All  Truth?  And  if  the  Bible  be  the 
great  treasure-house  of  wisdom,  does  it  speak  in  its  ful- 
ness to  the  mass,  or  to  the  few?  Are  the  Fathers  and 
the  Tractarians,  or  the  Germans,  or  the  modern  Puritans 
right,  and  wherein  lies  the  difference  between  them  ? 

‘ ‘ Then  comes  again  the  hungry  book-ocean,  with  its 
million  waves,  crying,  ‘ Read  ! Read ! Give  up  doing, 
that  you  may  think.  Across  me  is  the  only  path  to  the 
isles  of  the  blest,  to  the  temple  of  wisdom,  to  the  thres- 
hold of  God’s  throne  ! ’ And  there  we  must  answer 
again,  ‘ Not  so  ! ? Oh  that  we  had  wings  as  doves,  then 
would  we  flee  away  and  be  at  rest  — at  rest  from  the 
noise  of  many  waters  — and  rise  up  on  wings  into  the 
empyrean  of  truth ; for  it  is  through  the  air,  not  across 
the  sea,  that  Heaven  lies,  and  Christ  is  not  yet  on  earth, 
but  in  Heaven  ! . . . Ay,  better  to  stay  humbly  on 
earth  among  the  duties  and  affections  of  humanity,  in 
contact  with,  and  acting  on,  the  material  and  visible,  con- 
tented to  walk  till  wings  are  given  us  wherewith  to  fly. 
Better  far ! for  while  we  labor,  dressing  and  tilling  the 
garden  which  God  has  given  us,  even  though  sin  have 


Leaves  Eversley  89 

made  us  ashamed,  and  our  bodies,  and  souls,  and  spirits 
become  defiled  in  our  daily  work,  and  require  to  be 
washed  in  Christ  His  blood  ; and  though  there  are  thorns 
and  briers  in  the  garden,  and  our  fairest  flowers  will 
sometimes  fade,  and  the  thorns  may  enter  into  our  flesh 
and  fester,  and  disease  may  not  be  extinct  within  us ; — 
better,  even  thus,  to  stay  and  work,  saying  — ‘ Here  at 
least  we  are  safe,  for  God  hath  appointed  this  place  to 
us  ! ’ And  even  though  on  earth,  the  heaven  will  be 
above  us  in  our  labors,  the  heaven  of  eternal  truth  and 
beauty,  to  which  we  may  look  up,  and  take  comfort,  and 
draw  light  and  guidance,  and  learn  to  walk  in  the  light. 
And  the  breeze  of  God’s  Spirit  shall  fan  our  weary  brows  ; 
and  the  cheering  voices  of  our  fellow  laborers  shall  call 
to  us  through  dark  thickets,  and  across  broad  lawns  ; and 
every  bird,  and  bud,  and  herb  will  smile  on  us  and  say, 
‘You  have  not  despised  us,  you  have  dwelt  among  us, 
and  been  our  friend.  Therefore,  when  we  are  renewed, 
we  will  rejoice  with  you!’  Oh!  will  it  not  be  better 
thus  to  wait  for  The  Renewal,  and  learn  to  love  all  things, 
all  men  — not  as  spirits  only,  not  with  ‘ a love  for  poor 
souls’  as  the  cant  saying  is  (that  unappreciable,  loveless 
abstraction),  but  — as  men  and  women,  of  body,  soul,  and 
spirit,  each  being  made  one,  and  therefore  all  to  be 
loved  ? Is  it  not  better  thus  to  love  intellect  as  well  as 
spirit,  and  matter  as  well  as  intellect,  and  dumb  animals, 
and  trees,  and  rocks,  and  sun,  and  stars,  that  our  joy  and 
glory  may  be  fuller,  more  all-embracing,  when  they  are 
restored,  and  the  moan  which  the  earth  makes  day  and 
night  to  God,  has  ceased  for  ever?  Better  far,  than  to 
make  ourselves  sham  wings,  and  try  to  fly,  and  drop 
fluttering  down,  disgusted  with  our  proper  element,  yet 
bound  to  it,  poor  selfish  isolated  mystics  ! 

“ This  is  healthy  materialism,  for  there  is  a truth  even 
in  materialism.  The  man  has  hold  of  a reality  who  says 
— ‘This  earth  is,  after  all,  to  me  the  great  fact.’  God  is 
the  great  fact , objectively,  in  the  pure  truth  of  things ; 


90  Charles  Kingsley 

but  He  can  only  become  the  great  fact  to  us , subjectively, 
by  our  acting  on  the  truth,  that  matter,  and  all  its  ties  — 
so  interwoven  with  our  spirits  and  our  spiritual  ties  that  it 
is  impossible  to  separate  them  — that  this  earth,  I say,  is 
the  next  greatest  fact  to  that  of  God’s  existence,  the  fact 
by  which  we  know  Him . This  is  the  path  the  Bible 
takes.  It  does  not  lay  down  any  description  of  pure 
Deity.  It  is  all  about  earth,  and  men,  and  women,  and 
marriage,  and  birth  and  death,  food  and  raiment,  trees 
and  animals ; and  God,  not  as  He  is  in  Himself,  but  as 
He  has  shown  Himself  in  relation  to  the  earth,  and  its 
history,  and  the  laws  of  humanity.  And  all  attempts  at 
arriving  at  the  contemplation  of  God  as  He  is  in  Himself, 
appear  to  me  as  yet  to  have  ended  in  forgetfulness  of  the 
Incarnation,  and  of  the  laws  of  humanity,  and  lastly  of 
God  Himself,  because  men,  not  content  with  the  mixed 
idea  of  God  which  the  Bible  gives,  have  turned  from  it  to 
contemplate  a ‘pure’  (?)  imagination  of  their  own  in- 
venting. — All  trying  to  substitute  sight  for  faith.  For 
we  do  not  and  cannot  yet  know  what  God  is.  No  man  can 
approach  to  Him  ! What  is  my  conclusion  from  all  this  ? 
for  I have  not  wandered,  though  I seem  to  have  done  so. 

“ That  our  safe  plan  will  be,  as  young  and  foolish  chil- 
dren, first  to  learn  the  duties  of  daily  life,  the  perfect 
ideal  of  humanity,  from  the  Bible,  and  prayer,  and  God’s 
earth ; and  thus  to  learn  and  practise  love.  Then  if  we 
are  required  to  combat  error  verbally,  we  will  make 
cautious  voyages  on  the  book-ocean  ; — reading  one  book 
at  a time,  and  knowing  it  thoroughly;  not  adhering  to 
any  party ; not  caring  of  what  creed  our  author  is, 
because  we  shall  read  — not  to  learn  creeds  and  doctrines, 
but  to  learn  men  — to  find  out  what  it  was  in  their  hearts 
which  made  them  take  up  those  creeds  and  doctrines, 
that  we  may  understand  the  pathology  of  the  human  soul, 
and  be  able  to  cure  its  diseases.  This  is  the  true  spiritual 
mode  of  reading,  and  I see  enough  for  us  for  the  next 
year  or  two  in  three  books — Maurice,  Kant,  St.  Augustine. 


Leaves  Eversley  9 1 

I will  know  the  heart  of  that  St.  Augustine  — how  he 
came  to  be  at  once  so  right  and  so  wrong,  so  far-sighted 
and  so  blind.  And  I must  have  better  rules  of  pure 
reasoning  than  I have  at  present,  so  Kant  must  be  read. 
. . . But  I wish  to  read  hardly  anything  but  the  Bible  for 
some  time  to  come ; for  till  we  have  felt  all  the  ties  of 
humanity,  we  shall  be  unfit  to  judge  of  much  that  we 
must  look  at,  both  in  God’s  work,  and  God’s  earth,  and 
men’s  fancies.  . . 

“Do  you  wish  to  help  me?  Pray  for  my  successor, 
that  he  may  serve  God  and  God’s  people  here  better 
than  I have  done ; and  may  build,  on  the  foundation  that 
I have  laid,  such  stuff  as  may  endure  in  the  day  of  trial ! 
And  oh  ! pray  that  he  may  save  me  from  blood-guiltiness, 
by  warning  those  whom  I have  neglected.  . 

His  last  sermon  was  on  Romans  xiii.  7,  on  the 
duty  of  obeying  ministers  — entreating  his  people 
to  look  up  to  his  successor,  and  to  pray  for  the 
success  of  his  work  in  Eversley. 

“ Now  why  do  I say  this  to  you  ? In  order  that  when 
I am  gone,  you  may  do  better  without  me,  than  you  have 
done  with  me.  I know  that  I have  neglected  many  of 
you  very  much  — that  I have  done  my  whole  duty  to 
none  of  you.  May  God  forgive  me  for  it.  But  I have 
tried  to  teach  you  that  you  are  all  God’s  children.  I 
have  tried  to  teach  you  what  a noble  Church  yours  is  — 
what  a mine  of  wisdom  there  is  in  the  Church  Services  — 
Psalms  and  Lessons.  I have  told  you  the  use  and  mean- 
ing of  the  two  sacraments,  and  entreated  you  to  use  them 
aright.  I have  told  you  that  faith  without  works,  profes- 
sion without  practice,  is  dead ; and  I have  shown  you 
that  to  live  with  Christ  in  the  next  world,  you  must  live 
like  Christ  in  this.  . . ” 


CHAPTER  V 


1844-1847 

Aged  25-28 

Marriage  — Curacy  of  Pimperne  — Rector  of  Eversley 
— Parish  Work  — Personal  Influence — Canonry  of 
Middleham  — Needs  of  the  Church  — Birth  of  Two 
Children  — The  Saint’s  Tragedy  Written. 

Schiller  at  Jena,  a few  months  after  his  marriage . 

. . Life  is  quite  a different  thing  by  the  side  of  a beloved 
wife,  than  so  forsaken  and  alone,  even  in  summer.  Beautiful 
Nature  ! I now  for  the  first  time  fully  enjoy  it,  live  in  it.  The 
world  again  clothes  itself  around  me  in  poetic  forms ; old  feelings 
are  again  awakening  in  my  breast.  What  a life  I am  leading 
here ! I look  with  a glad  mind  around  me ; my  heart  finds  a 
perennial  contentment  without  it ; my  spirit  so  fine,  so  refreshing 
a nourishment.  My  existence  is  settled  in  harmonious  composure 
— not  strained  and  impassioned,  but  peaceful  and  clear.  I look 
to  my  future  destiny  with  a cheerful  heart ; now  when  standing  at 
the  wished-for  goal,  I wonder  with  myself,  how  it  has  all  happened 
so  far  beyond  my  expectations.  Fate  has  conquered  the  difficulties 
for  me ; it  has,  I may  say,  forced  me  to  the  ,mark.  From  the 
future  I expect  everything.  . . .” 

Thomas  Carlyle,  Life  of  Schiller. 

IN  December,  1843,  he  left  Eversley,  as  he  then 
thought,  for  ever,  “ this  beloved  place,  hahowed 
to  me  by  my  prayers,  my  tears,  my  hopes,  my 
first  vows  to  God  — my  paean  of  pardoned  sin  and 
answered  prayers,  . . and  in  * January,  1844, 
was  married  to  Fanny,  daughter  of  Pascoe  Grenfell 
and  Georgiana  St.  Leger  his  wife.  He  was  to 
have  taken  possession  of  the  curacy  of  Pimperne 
in  the  spring:  but  the  living  of  Eversley  falling 


Curacy  of  Pimperne  93 

vacant  at  that  time,  a strong  effort  was  made  by 
the  parishioners  to  get  the  curate  who  had  worked 
among  them  so  indefatigably  appointed  rector. 
While  the  matter  was  pending,  he  went  down  into 
Dorsetshire  for  the  Sunday  duty.  The  following 
are  extracts  from  his  daily  letters  to  his  wife : 

Salisbury  : March  28,  1844.  — “ I have  been  walking 
round  the  cathedral  — oh  ! such  a cathedral ! Perfect 
unity,  in  extreme  multiplicity.  The  first  thing  which 
strikes  you  in  it  (spiritually,  I mean)  is  its  severe  and 
studied  calm,  even  to  ‘ primness ? — nothing  luscious, 
very  little  or  no  variation.  Then  you  begin  to  feel  how 
one  it  is ; how  the  high  slated  roof  and  the  double  lancet 
windows,  and  the  ranges  of  graduating  lancet  arches  filling 
every  gable,  and  the  continued  repetition  of  the  same 
simple  forms  even  in  the  buttresses  and  string  courses, 
and  corbel  tables,  and  the  extreme  harsh  angular  simpli- 
city of  the  mouldings  — all  are  developments  of  one  idea, 
and  the  idea  so  well  expressing  the  tone  of  its  date,  the 
end  of  the  thirteenth  and  beginning  of  the  fourteenth 
centuries,  I suppose,  when  the  ‘ revival ? of  the  age  of  St. 
Francis,  St.  Dominic,  and  dear  St.  Elizabeth  had  formed 
itself,  from  the  many  private  fancies  of  its  great  minds, 
into  one  clear  dark  system  of  stern,  elegant,  soul-crushing 
asceticism.  And  then  from  the  center  of  all  this,  that 
glorious  spire  rises  — the  work  of  a slightly  later  hand  — 
too  huge,  I believe,  for  the  rest  of  the  cathedral,  its 
weight  having  split  and  crushed  its  supporters.  Fit 
emblem  of  the  result  of  curbing  systems.  The  moment 
the  tower  escapes  above  the  level  of  the  roof,  it  bursts 
into  the  wildest  luxuriance,  retaining  the  general  char- 
acter of  the  building  below,  but  disguising  it  in  a thousand 
fantastic  excrescences  — like  the  mind  of  man,  crushed 
by  human  systems,  and  then  suddenly  asserting  its  own 
will  in  some  burst  of  extravagance,  yet  unconsciously  re- 
taining the  harsh  and  severe  lineaments  of  the  school  in 


94  Charles  Kingsley 

which  it  had  been  bred.  And  then  its  self-willed  fancies 
exhaust  themselves,  and  it  makes  one  final  struggle  up- 
ward, in  a vast  simple  pyramid  like  that  spire ; emblem 
of  the  return,  the  revulsion  rather,  to  ‘ pure  ’ and  naked 
spirituality.  And  when  even  that  has  dwindled  to  a point, 
it  must  end  — if  it  would  have  either  safety,  or  perma- 
nence, or  shelter,  or  beauty  — as  that  spire  ends,  in  the 
Cross ! Oh ! that  cathedral  is  an  emblem,  unconscious 
to  its  builders,  of  the  whole  history  of  Popery  from  the 
twelfth  century  to  the  days  when  Luther  preached  once 
more  Christ  crucified  for  us  — For  ever  above  us,  yet  for 
ever  among  us ! It  has  one  peculiar  beauty.  It  rises 
sheer  out  of  a smooth  and  large  grass  field,  not  struggling 
up  among  chimneys  and  party-walls,  but  with  the  grass 
growing  to  the  foot  of  the  plinth.  . . . The  repose  is  so 
wonderful.  It  awes  you,  too,  without  crushing  you.  You 
can  be  cheerful  under  its  shadow,  but  you  could  not  do  a 
base  thing.  ...  It  is  lucky  I took  down  my  tackle,  for  I 
am  promised  a day’s  trout  fishing  to-morrow.  . . .” 
March  31.  — “ . . . I spent  a delightful  day  yesterday. 
Conceive  my  pleasure  at  finding  myself  in  Bemerton, 
George  Herbert’s  parish,  and  seeing  his  house  and 
church,  and  fishing  in  the  very  meadows  where  he,  and 
Dr.  Donne,  and  Izaac  Walton,  may  have  fished  before 
me.  I killed  several  trout  and  a brace  of  grayling,  about 
three  quarters  of  a pound  each  — a fish  quite  new  to  me, 
smelling  just  like  cucumbers.  The  dazzling  chalk-wolds 
sleeping  in  the  sun,  the  clear  river  rushing  and  boiling 
down  in  one  ever-sliding  sheet  of  transparent  silver,  the 
birds  bursting  into  song,  and  mating  and  toying  in  every 
hedge-row  — everything  stirred  with  the  gleam  of  God’s 
eyes,  when  ‘ He  reneweth  the  face  of  the  earth  ! ’ I had 
many  happy  thoughts ; but  I am  very  lonely.  No  time 
for  more,  as  I am  going  to  prayers  in  the  cathedral.  ...” 
Durweston:  April  1.  — “The  road  from  here  to 
Pimperne,  over  the  downs,  is  about  three  miles  of  the 
most  beautiful  turf  and  natural  woodland,  through  Cran- 


Curacy  of  Pimperne  95 

borne  Chase.  I never  was  before  on  a chalk  forest.  It 
is  very  peculiar,  and  most  beautiful.  I like  it  better  than 
Devon  and  Welsh  Moorland  — it  is  more  simple,  and  yet 
not  so  severe  — more  tender  in  its  soft  grays  and  greens, 
yet  quite  as  sublime  in  the  vast  unbroken  curves  and 
sweeps  of  the  open  downs.  I cannot  express  myself.  I 
should  like  to  preach  a sermon  on  chalk  downs  and 
another  on  chalk  streams.  They  are  so  purely  beauti- 
ful. . . . More  and  more  I find  that  Carlyle’s  writings  do 
not  lead  to  gloomy  discontent  — that  theirs  is  not  a dark 
but  a bright  view  of  life ; 1 in  reality,  more  evil  speaking 
against  the  age  and  its  inhabitants  is  thundered  from  the 
pulpit  daily,  by  both  Evangelical  and  Tractarian,  than 
Carlyle  has  been  guilty  of  in  all  his  works ; but  he  finds 
fault  in  tangible  original  language  — they  speak  evil  of 
every  one  except  their  own  party,  but  in  such  conven- 
tional language  that  no  ear  is  shocked  by  the  oft-repeated 
formulae  of  ‘ original  sin’  and  ‘unconverted  hearts/  and 
so  on.  Let  us  in  all  things  take  Dr.  Johnson’s  golden 
rule  : * First  clear  your  mind  of  cant ! ’ ” 

April  19.  — “ . . . Oh!  blissful  future.  Oh!  dreary 
present.  Yet  do  not  think  I repine : this  separation, 
though  dreary,  is  not  barren.  Nothing  need  be  barren  to 
those  who  view  all  things  in  their  real  light,  as  links  in  the 
great  chain  of  progression  both  for  themselves  and  for  the 
universe.  To  us  all  time  should  seem  so  full  of  life  : 
every  moment  the  grave  and  the  father  of  unnumbered 
events  and  designs  in  heaven,  and  earth,  and  the  mind  of 
our  God  Himself  — all  things  moving  smoothly  and 
surely,  in  spite  of  apparent  checks  and  disappointments, 
towards  the  appointed  end ! Oh,  happy  Eversley  ! how 
we  shall  read,  and  learn,  and  work  there ; how  we  shall 
find  there  that  these  few  months  of  unrest  have  not  been 

1 Many  years  after  this,  Professor  Shairp,  speaking  of  his  first 
conversation  with  Mr.  Kingsley,  said  he  told  him  that,  often  when 
he  was  tired  or  depressed,  the  book  he  would  turn  to  was  Car- 
lyle’s “ French  Revolution.” 


96  Charles  Kingsley 

thrown  away,  that  in  them  we  shall  have  learnt  what 
might  have  escaped  11s  in  the  quiet  routine  of  a parish, 
and  yet  which  are  wanted  there  — as  weeds  and  water- 
flowers  show  themselves  in  the  rapid  eddies,  while  they 
are  buried  deep  in  the  still  reaches  of  the  river.  . . .” 

April  21.  — “I  have  been  reading  Wordsworth’s 
‘ Excursion/  with  many  tears  and  prayers  too.  To  me 
he  is  not  only  poet,  but  preacher  and  prophet  of  God’s 
new  and  divine  philosophy  — a man  raised  up  as  a light 
in  a dark  time,  and  rewarded  by  an  honored  age,  for 
the  simple  faith  in  man  and  God  with  which  he  delivered 
his  message  ; whose  real  nobility  is  independent  of  rank, 
or  conventionalities  of  language  or  manner,  which  is  but 
the  fashion  of  this  world  and  passes  away.  I am  trying, 
in  my  way,  to  do  good ; but  what  is  the  use  of  talking  to 
hungry  paupers  about  heaven?  ‘Sir/  as  my  clerk  said  to 
me  yesterday,  t there  is  a weight  upon  their  hearts,  and 
they  care  for  no  hope  and  no  change,  for  they  know  they 
can  be  no  worse  off  than  they  are.’  And  so  they  have  no 
spirit  to  arise  and  go  to  their  Father!  S.  G.  O.1  is  deep 
in  statistics  and  abuses.  I will  never  believe  that  a man 
has  a real  love  for  the  good  and  beautiful,  except  he 
attacks  the  evil  and  the  disgusting  the  moment  he  sees  it ! 
Therefore  you  must  make  up  your  mind  to  see  me,  with 
God’s  help,  a hunter  out  of  abuses  till  the  abuses  cease  — 
only  till  then.  It  is  very  easy  to  turn  our  eyes  away  from 
ugly  sights,  and  so  consider  ourselves  refined.  The  re- 
fined man  to  me  is  he  who  cannot  rest  in  peace  with  a 
coal  mine,  or  a factory,  or  a Dorsetshire  peasant’s  house 
near  him,  in  the  state  in  which  they  are.  . . 

Chelsea,  May . — “ I shall  return  to  you  Monday,  per- 
haps rector  of  Eversley  ! A bright  future  opens.  Blessed 
be  God.  . . .” 

. . All  is  settled  at  last.  Sir  John  has  given  me 
the  living,  and  he  wishes  me  to  settle  there  as  soon  as 

1 The  Rev.  Sidney  Godolpliin  Osborn,  who  had  married  a sister 
of  Mrs.  Kingsley.  (M.  K.) 


\ 


LIP  “Y 

Ot 

UNIVERSITY  of  ILLINOIS 


. 


incoming  tenant  >t  no 

. 

t,  . .i  • • ' itl  i:r  d:r:.;c  works  had  • oc 


The  Rectory  and  Church  at  Eversley. 


Rector  of  Eversley  97 

possible.  God  never  fails  those  who  put  their  trust  in 
Him.  . . . Congratulations,  as  you  may  suppose,  are 
plentiful  . . . and  I had  the  pleasure  of  bringing  the 
news  myself  to  Eversley.  ...  I took  the  whole  duty  at 
St.  George’s  Hospital  yesterday  morning,  and  preached  a 
charity  sermon  at  St.  Luke’s  in  the  afternoon,  and  at  the 
old  church  in  the  evening ; and  am  very  tired,  body  and 
mind.  . . . My  brain  has  been  in  such  a whirl  that  I 
have  had  no  time  for  deep  thoughts.  I can  understand, 
by  the  events  of  the  last  few  days,  how  the  minds  of  men 
of  business,  at  the  very  moment  they  are  wielding  the 
vastest  commercial  or  physical  power,  may  yet  be  de- 
graded and  superficial.  One  seems  to  do  so  much  in 
4 business,’  and  yet  with  how  little  fruit ! we  bustle,  and 
God  works.  That  glorious,  silent  Providence  — such  a 
contrast  to  physical  power,  with  its  blast  furnaces  and 
roaring  steam-engines  ! Farewell  till  to-morrow.  . . .” 

He  and  his  wife  now  settled  in  the  Rectory  at 
Eversley ; and  life  flowed  on  peacefully,  notwith- 
standing the  anxieties  of  a sorely  neglected  parish, 
and  the  expenses  of  an  old  house  which  had  not 
been  repaired  for  more  than  a hundred  years. 
Owing  to  the  circumstances  under  which  the 
living  fell  vacant,  the  incoming  tenant  got  no 
dilapidation-money,  and  had  arrears  of  poor’s 
rates  and  the  pay  of  his  predecessor’s  curate  to 
meet.  The  house  was  damp  and  unwholesome, 
surrounded  with  ponds,  which  overflowed  with 
every  heavy  rain,  and  flooded  not  only  the  gar- 
den and  stables,  but  all  the  rooms  on  the  ground 
floor,  keeping  up  master  and  servants  sometimes 
all  night  bailing  out  the  water  in  buckets  for  hours 
together;  and  drainage  works  had  to  be  done  be- 
fore it  was  habitable.  From  these  causes,  and 
from  the  charities  falling  almost  entirely  on  the 
vol.  1.  — 7 


gS  Charles  Kingsley 

incumbent,  the  living,  though  a good  one,  was  for 
years  unremunerative ; but  the  young  rector, 
happy  in  his  home  and  his  work,  met  all  diffi- 
culties bravely.  New  clubs  for  the  poor,  shoe 
club,  coal  club,  maternal  society,  a loan  fund  and 
lending  library,  were  established  one  after  another. 
An  intelligent  young  parishioner,  who  was  till  lately 
schoolmaster,  was  sent  by  the  rector  to  the  Win- 
chester Training  College  ; an  adult  evening  school 
was  held  in  the  rectory  all  the  winter  months ; a 
Sunday-school  met  there  every  Sunday  morning 
and  afternoon ; and  weekly  cottage  lectures  were 
established  in  the  outlying  districts  for  the  old  and 
feeble.  The  fact  of  there  being  no  school-house 
had  the  good  effect  of  drawing  the  people  within 
the  humanizing  influences  of  the  rectory,  which 
was  always  open  to  them,  and  will  be  long  associ- 
ated in  the  minds  of  old  and  young  at  Eversley 
with  the  kind  and  courteous  sympathy  and  the 
living  teaching  which  they  all  got  from  their  pas- 
tor. At  the  beginning  of  his  ministry  there  was 
t scarcely  a grown-up  man  or  woman  among  the 
laboring  class  who  could  read  or  write  — for  as 
boys  and  girls  they  had  all  been  glad  to  escape 
early  to  field  work  from  the  one  school  — a stifling 
room,  ten  feet  square,  where  cobbling  shoes,  teach- 
ing, and  caning  went  on  together.  As  to  religious 
instruction,  they  had  had  none.  The  church  was 
nearly  empty  before  he  came  as  curate.  The 
farmers'  sheep,  whqn  pasture  was  scarce,  were 
turned  into  the  neglected  churchyard.  Holy 
Communion  was  celebrated  only  three  times  a 
year;  the  communicants  were  few;  the  alms 
were  collected  in  an  old  wooden  saucer.  A 


Rector  of  Eversley  99 

cracked  kitchen  basin  inside  the  font  held  the 
water  for  Holy  Baptism.  At  the  altar,  which 
was  covered  by  a moth-eaten  cloth,  stood  one 
old  broken  chair ; and  so  averse  were  the  church- 
wardens to  any  change,  that  when  the  rector  made 
a proposal  for  monthly  communions,  it  was  only 
accepted  on  his  promising  himself  to  supply  the 
wine  for  the  extra  celebrations.1 

The  evil  results  of  such  years  of  neglect  could 
only  be  conquered  by  incessant  labor,  and  his 
whole  energies  were  devoted  to  the  parish.  He 
had  to  redeem  it  from  barbarism : but  it  was  a 
gentle  barbarism,  for  the  people  were  a kindly 
people,  civil  and  grateful  for  notice,  and  not 
demoralized  by  indiscriminate  almsgiving.  He 
made  a point  of  talking  to  the  men  and  boys  at 
their  field  work,  and  was  soon  personally  intimate 
with  every  soul  in  the  parish,  from  the  mothers  at 
their  wash-tubs  to  the  babies  in  the  cradle,  for 
whom  he  always  had  a loving  word  or  look. 
Nothing  escaped  his  eye.  That  hunger  for 
knowledge  on  every  subject  which  characterized 
him  through  life,  and  made  him  eager  to  learn 
from  every  laboring  man  what  he  could  tell  of  his 
own  farm-work  or  the  traditions  of  the  place,  had 
put  him  when  he  was  curate  on  an  easy  human 
footing  with  the  parishioners ; so  that  he  soon  got 
the  parish  thoroughly  in  hand.  It  was  by  daily 
house-to-house  visiting  in  the  week,  still  more 
than  his  church  services,  that  he  acquired  his  in- 
fluence. If  a man  or  woman  were  suffering  or 
dying,  he  would  go  to  them  five  and  six  times  a 

1 The  church  was  renovated,  repaired,  and  decorated  about 
eighteen  years  later ; and  the  churchyard  was  enlarged  and  planted 
with  shrubs.  (M.  K.) 


ioo  Charles  Kingsley 

day— and  night  as  well  as  day  — for  his  own 
heart's  sake  as  well  as  for  their  soul's  sake. 
Such  visiting  was  very  rare  in  those  days.  But, 
then,  to  use  his  first  curate’s  words,  “ What  re- 
spect he  had  for  the  poor ! I can  think,"  he  says, 
“ of  no  other  word.  It  was  not  simply  that  he 
cared  for  them  exceedingly,  and  was  kind,  feeling, 
sympathetic,  that  he  would  take  any  amount  of 
trouble  for  them,  that  those  whom  he  employed 
became  simply  devoted  to  him.  - — It  was  far  more 
than  this.  There  was  in  him  a delicate,  deep  re- 
spect for  the  poor  — a positive  looking  up  to  them, 
for  His  dear  sake  who  ‘became  poor;  ’ for  the 
good  which  he  saw  in  them,  for  the  still  greater 
good  which  he  hoped  to  see  and  strove  that  he 
might  see  in  them.  . . 

At  this  time  he  seldom  dined  out;  never  during 
the  winter  months,  when  the  adult  school  and  the 
cottage  readings  took  up  six  evenings  in  the  week ; 
he  was  uneasy  away  from  his  work,  and  rarely  left 
the  parish  except  for  a few  days  at  a time  to  take 
his  family  to  the  sea-side.  His  chief  relaxation 
was  a few  hours'  fishing  in  some  stream  close  by. 
He  never  took  a gun  in  hand,  because  from  the 
poaching  tastes  of  his  people  he  felt  it  might  bring 
him  into  unpleasant  collision  with  them,  and  for 
this  reason  he  did  not  wish  to  be  made  a magis- 
trate lest  he  should  have  to  sit  in  judgment  on  his 
parishioners.  He  could  not  afford  to  hunt,  nor 
would  he  have  done  soon  first  settling  in  Eversley 
for  other  reasons ; though  the  temptation  was 
great,  from  the  fact  that  for  some  years  the  fox- 
hounds (now  known  as  Mr.  Garth's)  were  kept  at 
Bramshill,  Sir  John  Cope  being  master.  But  often 
has  one  who  knew  his  every  passing  thought,  and 


Parish  Work 


i oi 


watched  him  closely,  seen  the  tears  start  in  his 
eyes  as  horses  and  hounds  swept  by  the  rectory. 
When,  in  after  years,  he  took  a gallop  now  and 
then  to  refresh  himself,  and  to  meet  his  friends  in 
the  hunting  field,  where  he  was  always  welcome,  it 
was  on  some  old  horse  which  he  had  picked  up 
cheap  for  “ parson’s  work.”  “ Another  old  screw, 
Mr.  Kingsley,”  was  said  to  him  more  than  once  by 
middle-class  men,  who  were  well  aware  that  he 
knew  a good  horse  when  he  saw  it;  and  who  per- 
haps respected  him  all  the  more  for  his  self-denial.1 

Sir  John  Cope's  stablemen  were  a respectable 
set  of  men,  and  most  regular  at  church.  The 
rector  had  always  a friendly  word  with  the  hunts- 
man and  whips ; and  soon  won  their  respect  and 
affection.  Of  this  they  early  gave  proof,  for  when 
the  first  confirmation  after  his  induction  was  given 
out  in  church,  and  he  invited  all  who  wished  to  be 
confirmed  to  come  to  the  rectory  for  weekly  in- 
struction, the  stud  groom  was  among  the  first  to 
present  himself,  bringing  a message  from  the 
whips  and  stablemen  to  say  they  had  all  been 
confirmed  once,  but  if  Mr.  Kingsley  wished  it, 
they  would  be  happy  to  come  again ! It  had 
been  the  custom  in  Eversley  to  let  the  catechu- 
mens get  over  as  they  could  to  some  distant 
church,  where  four  or  five  parishes  assembled  to 
meet  the  bishop,  with  little  or  no  preparation,  and 
in  consequence  the  public-houses  were  unusually 
full  on  the  day  of  confirmation,  which  often  ended 
in  a mere  drunken  holiday  for  boys  and  girls,  who 

1 He  was  not  only  a superb  horseman : but  could  ride  across 
country  equally  well  in  the  deep  clays  and  over  the  big  banks  and 
blind  ditches  of  South  Berks  and  North  Hants  and  over  the 
sweeping  grass  pastures  of  Beachmoor  Vale  — a very  rare  qualifi- 
cation, as  hunting  men  know.  (M.  K.) 


102  Charles  Kingsley 

had  many  miles  to  walk,  and  had  neither  superin- 
tendence nor  refreshment  provided  by  the  way. 
But  now  matters  were  differently  arranged.  On 
the  six  Sundays  previous  to  the  confirmation,  the 
catechism,  creeds,  and  office  of  confirmation  were 
explained  publicly;  and  during  those  six  weeks 
each  candidate  was  taught  separately  as  well  as  in 
class.  On  the  day  itself  the  young  people  assem- 
bled early  for  refreshment  at  the  rectory,  whence 
they  started  in  vans  for  Heckfield  church.  He 
himself  went  with  the  boys,  and  his  wife  or  some 
trustworthy  person  with  the  girls,  never  losing 
sight  of  them  till  they  returned,  the  girls  to  their 
homes,  the  boys  and  men  to  the  rectory,  where  a 
good  dinner  awaited  them,  and  they  spent  the 
evening  in  wandering  over  the  glebe,  or  looking  at 
curiosities  and  picture-books  indoors,  ending  with 
a few  earnest  words  from  their  rector.  Thus  the 
solemn  day  was  always  associated  with  pleasant 
thoughts  and  an  innocent  holiday,  which  made 
them  more  inclined  to  come  to  him  the  week  fol- 
lowing to  be  prepared  for  Holy  Communion. 
The  appearance  and  manner  of  the  Eversley  cate- 
chumens— the  quiet  dresses  and  neat  caps  pro- 
vided for  the  girls  — were  often  remarked  on.  It 
may  seem  a trifling  matter  to  dwell  on  now  when 
such  things  are  common  in  all  parishes : but 

thirty-two  years  ago  Eversley  set  the  example  on 
confirmation  as  well  as  on  many  other  days. 

His  preaching  from  the  first  was  remarkable. 
The  only  fault  which  Bishop  Sumner  found  with 
the  sermons  he  took  up  to  him  before  his  Priest’s 
Ordination,  was  that  they  were  “ too  colloquial”: 
but  it  was  this  very  peculiarity  which  arrested  and 
attracted  his  hearers,  and  helped  to  fill  an  empty 


Personal  Influence  103 

church.  His  original  mind  and  common  sense 
alike  revolted  from  the  use  of  conventional  and 
unmeaning  phraseology;  and  as  to  him  all  the 
facts  of  life  were  sacred,  he  was  equally  unfettered 
in  the  subject-matter  of  his  sermons. 

“The  great  difference,”  he  said,  in  writing  on  this 
point  to  his  wife,  “ which  strikes  me  between  St.  Augus- 
tine and  the  divinity  of  our  day,  is  his  faith.  I mean  the 
fulness  and  completeness  of  his  belief,  that  every  object 
and  circumstance  has  a spiritual  import,  a direct  relation 
to  God’s  will  and  providence,  and  that  in  this  import 
alone  should  the  Christian  look  at  anything.  A faith  like 
this,  which  explains  all  heaven  and  earth  to  a man,  is  in- 
finitely above  that  half-faith  of  our  present  systems,  which 
makes  religion  a thing  apart,  explains  by  it  only  a few  phe- 
nomena of  man’s  existence  (whose  number  is  limited  by  cus- 
tom so  closely,  that  thousands  of  subjects  are  considered 
unfit  for  the  pulpit)  ; and  leaves  the  rest  of  the  universe  a 
terra  incognita  to  the  religious  thinker,  to  be  travelled  only 
by  the  Mammonite  and  the  physical  philosopher.” 

During  the  summer  of  1844  he  made  the 
acquaintance  of  the  Rev.  Frederick  Denison 
Maurice;  soon  to  become  his  dear  “Master.” 
He  asked  his  advice  on  all  his  parish  difficulties, 
telling  him  that  to  his  “ works  he  was  indebted  for 
the  foundation  of  any  coherent  view  of  the  word  of 
God,  the  meaning  of  the  Church  of  England,  and 
the  spiritual  phenomena  of  the  present  and  past 
ages.  And  as  through  your  thoughts  God’s  Spirit 
has  given  me  catholicity,  to  whom  therefore  can  I 
better  go  for  details  on  any  of  these  points?” 

His  own  happiness  at  this  time  deepened  his 
sympathies,  and  he  writes  to  a friend  then  in  great 
anxiety : 


104  Charles  Kingsley 

August  5,  1844.  — . . Still  there  is  always  some 

way  of  escape  to  be  found,  if  a man  goes  to  the  right 
place  to  look  for  it.  And  if  not  of  escape,  still  of  com- 
pensation. I speak  that  which  I know,  for  twelve 
months  ago  I was  hopeless,  separated  from  * * * unable 
to  correspond  even,  burdened  with  difficulties,  no  hope  of 
a living  . . . and  yet  through  all  filled  with  the  most  ex- 
traordinary conviction  that  my  deliverance  was  at  hand 
and  coming  I knew  not  whence  or  how  — at  a certain 
time ; at  which  certain  time  it  did  come,  from  a quarter 
the  most  unexpected,  and  since  then  in  spite  of  severe 
trials  within  and  without,  blessing  has  been  added  to 
blessing.  A few  months  ago  the  rector  of  Eversley 

absconded  and  resigned  his  living,  to  which  I to  my 

utter  astonishment  was  presented  for  life ! Of  my  own 
comfort  I will  not  talk.  Of  the  path  by  which  I attained 
it  I will.  It  was  simply  by  not  struggling,  doing  my  work 
vigorously  (or  trying  to  do  it)  where  God  had  put  me, 
and  believing  firmly  that  His  promises  had  a real,  not  a 
mere  metaphorical  meaning,  and  that  the  x.,  xxvii., 
xxxiv.,  xxxvii.,  cvii.,  cxii.,  cxxiii.,  cxxvi.  — cxlvi.  Psalms 
and  similar,  are  as  practically  true  — carnally  true,  if  you 
will,  for  us  as  they  were  for  the  Jews  of  old.  I know 
that  I am  right.  I know  that  God  is  not  only  the  God 
of  our  spirits,  but  of  our  bodies  — of  our  married  happi- 
ness — of  our  purses  — of  our  least  amusements  — and 
that  the  faithlessness  of  this  day,  and  the  Manichaeism  of 
this  day,  as  of  all  ages,  has  been  what  prevents  men  from 
accepting  God’s  promises  in  their  literal  sense,  with 
simple  childish  faith,  but  drives  them  to  spiritualize  them 
away  — i.  e.  make  them  mere  metaphors,  which  are  after 
all  next  door  to  lies.  My  dear  friend,  I may  incur  the 
blame  of  intruding  advice  where  unnecessary,  but  I do 
not  dare  be  silent.  I have  much  more,  much  deeper 
things  to  talk  to  you  of.  I see  dimly,  yet  surely,  in  your 
present  discontent,  the  germ  of  much  good  — of  wider 
views,  perhaps  of  more  satisfying  tastes.  Believe  me,  it  is 


Personal  Influence  105 

a true  saying,  and  not  a melancholy  one,  that  through 
much  tribulation  most  men  (not  all,  I believe)  must  enter 
into  the  kingdom  of  God.  Where  God  has  made  such  a 
mind  and  heart  as  yours,  He  will  not  let  it  stay  on  the 
threshold  of  Christianity  ; He  will  sicken  you  with  all  the 
beauties  of  her  outer  courts  ; He  will  lead  you  on,  scourge 
you,  if  it  be  necessary,  into  the  very  adyta,  then  up  to  the 
highest  holiest  pinnacle  of  that  church,  from  whence 
alone  we  can  see  man’s  workings  far  below,  and  look 
across  the  far  ocean  towards  the  happy  isles,  where  dwell 
the  heroes  of  the  earth,  at  the  feet  of  their  hero-king  and 
Saviour.  If  you  would  be  among  them  ; if  you  would 
not  be  a mere  laissez-faire  perpetuator  of  the  decaying, 
much  less  a restless  reviver  of  the  obsolete,  you  must  walk 
in  the  path  which  they  have  trodden.  You  must  get  at 
the  ‘ open  secret  ’ ‘ Quid  sumus  et  quare  victuri  gigni- 
mur ,’  which  so  few,  even  among  the  highest  religionists, 
now  know.  You  must  get  to  see  through  the  accidents, 
the  customs,  the  dilettantisms,  fair  and  foul,  which  over- 
crust humanity,  and  look  at  man  and  man’s  destiny,  as 
God  constituted  it.  You  must  leave  self — forget  self — 
you  must  discipline  self  till  she  lays  down,  and  ceases 
clamoring  for  a vote  in  the  Parliament  of  men.  You 
must  throw  off  the  proud  system-seeking  intellect  which 
haunts  us  all,  and  tries  to  round  off  heaven  and  earth  with 
a fresh  theory  every  year.  You  must  cast  off  the  help  of 
man,  and  construct  a religion  for  yourself  from  the  Bible  ; 
or  if  you  very  wisely  think  this,  as  I do,  a sheer  impossi- 
bility, you  must  use  the  help  of  all  men,  all  schools,  all 
sects,  all  ages,  all  histories — enter  into  all,  sympathize 
with  all  — see  God’s  Spirit  working  variously,  yet  surely 
in  all.  And  then  you  will  begin  to  find  what  the  peace 
is,  which  passeth  all  understanding.  You  will  be  able  to 
float  down  the  stream  of  time,  contented  to  fulfil  your 
destiny,  satisfied  with  the  particular  ripple  on  which  God 
has  cast  your  lot,  and  sure  that  some  day  all  riddles  shall 
be  unfolded,  all  wrongs  set  right,  and  God  justified,  in 


io6  Charles  Kingsley 

every  movement  of  this  seeming  chaos  of  life  ! I say  — 
this  you  must  do  — because  I do  not  think  your  mind 
can  find  peace  in  doing  less.  The  dose  of  opium 
which  will  put  the  baby  to  sleep  will  only  excite  and 
irritate  the  stronger  passions  of  the  man  ! Therefore  go 
on  to  the  perfection,  which  tribulation  always  indicates 
as  God’s  destiny  for  a man,  who  has  not  fallen  impeni- 
tently  into  habitual  sin.  . . . Let  me  hear  from  you, 
and  take  the  earliest  opportunity  of  introducing  you  to 
my  dear  wife.” 

Next  year  the  news  of  his  brother,  Lieut.  Kings- 
ley’s death  from  fever  in  Torres  Straits,  on  board 
H.  M.  S.  “ Royalist,”  reached  England,  and  he 
writes  to  his  wife : 

February  26,  1845. — “ . . . It  is  sad  — very  sad  — 
but  what  is  to  be  said  ? I saw  him  twice  last  night  in  two 
different  dreams  — strong  and  well  — and  so  much  grown 
— and  I kissed  him  and  wept  over  him  — and  woke  to 
the  everlasting  No ! / As  far  as  externals  go,  it  has  been 
very  sad.  The  sailors  say  commonly  that  there  is  but  a 
sheet  of  paper  between  Torres  Straits  and  Hell.  And 
there  he  lay,  and  the  wretched  crew,  in  the  little  brig, 
roasting  and  pining,  day  after  day  — never  heard  of,  or 
hearing  of  living  soul  for  a year  and  a half.  The  com- 
mander died  — half  the  crew  died  — and  so  they  died 
and  died  on  till,  in  May,  no  officer  was  left  but  Gerald, 
and  on  the  1 7th  of  September  he  died  too,  and  so  faded 
away,  and  we  shall  never  see  him  more  — for  ever?  God 
that  saved  me  knows.  Then  one  Parkinson,  the  boat- 
swain, had  to  promote  himself  to  keep  the  pennant  flying, 
all  the  officers  being  dead,  and  in  despair  left  his  post 
and  so  brought  the  brig  home  to  Singapore,  with  great 
difficulty,  leaking,  with  her  mast  sprung  — her  crew  half 
dead  — a doomed  vessel.  O God,  Thou  alone  knowest 
the  long  bitter  withering  baptism  of  fire,  wherewith  the 


Canonry  of  Middleham  107 

poor  boy  was  baptized,  day  and  night  alone  with  his  own 
soul.  And  yet  Thou  wert  right  — as  ever  — perhaps 
there  was  no  way  but  that  to  bring  him  to  look  himself 
in  the  face,  and  know  that  life  was  a reality,  and  not  a 
game  ! And  who  dare  say  that  in  those  weary,  weary 
months  of  hope  deferred,  the  heart  eating  at  itself,  did 
not  gnaw  through  the  crust  of  vanities  (not  of  so  very 
long  growth  either)  and  the  living  water  which  he  did 
drink  in  his  childhood  find  vent  and  bubble  up ! Why 
not  — seeing  that  God  is  love?  . . . 

“ The  plot  is  thickening  with  the  poor  Church  of  Eng- 
land. All  parties  are  in  confused  and  angry  murmur  at 
they  know  not  what  — every  one  is  frightened.  . . 

Early -in  1845,  Dean  Wood,  having  two  vacant 
stalls  at  his  disposal  in  the  Collegiate  Church  of 
Middleham,  offered  one  to  his  son,  and  the  other 
to  Charles  Kingsley,  his  son’s  old  college  friend. 
The  canonries  were  honorary,  and  had  neither  duty 
nor  stipend  connected  with  them,  but  being  of 
historic  interest,  the  two  friends  gladly  accepted 
them,  and  went  down  together  to  be  inducted.  He 
was  charmed  with  Yorkshire,  its  people,  and  its 
scenery,  and  writes  from  Middleham  to  his  wife  : 

May  18,  1845.  — “At  the  station  I met  the  Dean  and 
Peter,  and  went  down  with  them.  After  a confused  dog- 
sleep  night,  the  gray  morning  broke  in  on  the  country 
beyond  Derby  — of  that  peculiar  furrowed  cast  which 
marks  the  beds  above  the  coal,  like  the  scenery  between 
Bristol  and  Bath,  only  the  hills  not  so  high  — woods  all 
dewy  green  — cattle  sleeping  in  the  rich  meadows,  every 
little  glen  tenanted  by  its  bright  rivulet,  choked  and  hid- 
den by  deep  wooded  banks.  At  Chesterfield  they  were 
quarrying  for  coal  from  the  side  of  the  railway  cutting. 
Thence  to  York,  and  from  York  to  Northallerton,  a long 
sweep  of  low,  rolling  country,  with  such  a soil,  such  crops, 


108  Charles  Kingsley 

and  such  farming ! I never  saw  such  fertility  before  — 
and  this  reaches  to  Middleham,  where  the  scene  changes, 
high  hills  spring  up,  deep  gorges  empty  themselves  into 
the  plain,  and  Wensleydale  lies  spread  out  like  a loving 
mother,  bearing  in  her  bosom  little  bright  villages,  and 
emerald  pastures,  until  she  turns  the  promontory  of  Pen- 
hill,  and  wanders  up  towards  the  lakes,  bearing  with  her 
the  Kendall  mail,  and  two  tortured  horses,  for  which  the 
knacker’s  yard  cries,  indignant.  The  hospitalities  here 
seem  perpetual.” 

May  22.  — “What  a delight  it  would  be  to  take  you 
up  Coverdale  just  half  a mile  off  at  the  back  of  the  town. 
You  know  those  lovely  river  scenes  of  Cres wick’s ; they 
are  exact  likenesses  of  little  Cover  in  his  deep-wooded  glen 
with  his  yellow  rocks,  and  bright  white  stones,  and  brown 
water  clearer  than  crystal.  As  for  fishing,  I am  a clod  — 
never  did  I see  or  hear  of  such  tackle  as  these  men  use 

— finer  than  our  finest.  Squire  Topham  considers  my 
tackle  as  only  fit  to  hold  cart-horses.  This  is  quite  a 
racing  town  — eighty  horses  standing  here,  jockeys  and 
grooms  crowding  the  streets,  and  I hear  they  are  the 
most  respectable  and  religious  set,  and  many  of  them 
regular  communicants ! Little  old  Lye,  the  celebrated 
jockey,  was  at  church  yesterday,  and  I never  saw  a 
man  attend  to  the  service  with  more  devotion.  I quite 
loved  the  little  creature.  The  scenery  is  lovely.  I saw 
two  views  yesterday,  whose  xtent  and  magnificence  sur- 
passed everything  I had  fancied.  To-day  I go  down  the 
Ure,  to-morrow  to  see  Richmond  Castle,  the  next  up  the 
Cover,  and  Saturday  to  Bolton  Castle,  famed  for  having 
been  Mary  Queen  of  Scots’  prison,  and  to  ‘ Aysgack  Force,’ 

— a force,  being  in  plain  English,  a waterfall.  Ley  burn 
Scar,  a magnificent  terrace  of  rock,  rising  above  the  val- 
ley through  a ‘ talus  ’ of  wood,  I saw  yesterday,  and  have 
brought  you  a rare  little  flower  therefrom.  On  it  that  evil 
woman  was  taken,  escaping  from  Bolton  Castle,  and 
brought  back  again.  I will  bring  you  flowers  from  all 


Needs  of  the  Church  109 

parts,  and  what  souvenirs  I can,  of  thoughts — but  there 
has  been  so  much  bustle,  and  robing  and  unrobing  and 
so  on,  that  I am  quite  tired  and  want  a little  rest  of  mind.” 

May  23.  — “ I send  you  some  flowers,  gathered  yester- 
day from  the  ruins  of  Jervaulx  Abbey,  dismantled  by  con- 
nivance of  Henry  VIII.  The  forget-me-not  is  from  the 
high  altar,  the  saxifrage  from  the  refectory.  I have  got  a 
few  other  flowers  also,  which  I will  bring  home ; one  rare 
one  among  them,  from  Leyburn  Scar.  To-day  I go  up 
the  lovely  Cover,  to  fish  and  dream  of  you.  . . . Really 
everyone’s  kindness  here  is  extreme  after  the  stiff  South. 
The  mere  meeting  one  is  sufficient  to  cause  an  invitation 
to  stay ; parties  of  pleasure,  gifts  of  flies  and  tackle  (every- 
one fishes  and  hunts),  and  dinners  and  teas  and  cigars 
inexhaustible.  I am  deep  in  North  country  farming,  too  ; 
such  land  ! The  richest  spot,  it  is  said,  in  all  England  is 
this  beautiful  oasis  in  the  mountains.  Happy  souls,  if 
they  knew  their  own  happiness  : but  there  are  so  many 
feuds  and  old  grudges,  that  it  saddens  one.  Kiss  baby 
for  me.  . . .” 

The  state  of  parties  in  Church  and  State,  espe- 
cially the  former,  now  lay  heavy  on  his  heart, 
which  echoed  Dr.  Arnold’s  words,  “ When  I 
think  of  the  Church,  I could  sit  down  and  pine 
and  die.” — (Life,  Vol.  II.  p.  137),  and  this  made 
him  anxious  to  join  or  start  some  periodical  in 
which  the  young  men  of  the  day  could  find  a 
vehicle  for  free  expression  of  their  opinions.  On 
all  these  subjects  it  was  his  comfort  to  pour  out 
his  thoughts  to  his  friend  Mr.  Powles,  Fellow  of 
Exeter  College,  Oxford. 

December  1 1,  1845.  — “ About  the  ‘ Oxford  and  Cam- 
bridge Review.’  — Froude  seems  to  dread  any  fresh  start, 

. . . and  I shall  chew  the  cud  and  try  to  find  out  my 
own  way  a little  longer  before  I begin  trying  to  lead  others 


1 1 o Charles  Kingsley 

God  help  us  all ! for  such  a distempered  tangled  juncture 
must  end  in  the  cutting  of  the  Gordian  knot,  by  the  higher 
or  lower  powers ; and  as  the  higher  have  fairly  denied 
their  cutting  ability  and  have  given  it  up,  perhaps  the 
lower  may  try  their  hands  at  it.  I would,  if  I were  hover- 
ing between  nine  shillings  a week  and  the  workhouse,  as 
the  sum  of  all  attainabilities  this  side  of  Heaven.  God 
help  us  all ! I say  again ; for  there  is  no  counsel  to  be 
got  anywhere  from  man,  and  as  for  God's  book,  men 
have  made  it  mean  anything  and  nothing,  with  their 
commenting  and  squabbling,  and  doctrine  picking,  till 
one  asks  with  Pilate,  4 What  is  truth  ?'  Well,  at  all 
events,  God  knows,  and  Christ  the  King  knows,  and 
so  all  must  go  right  at  last,  but  in  the  meantime? 

44 1 am  just  now  a sort  of  religious  Shelley,  an  Ishmael 
of  catholicity,  a John  the  Baptist,  minus  his  spirit  and 
power  alas  ! bemoaning  myself  in  the  wilderness.  Were 
I to  stop  praying  and  remembering  my  own  sins  daily,  I 
could  become  a Democritus  Junior,  and  sitting  upon  the 
bench  of  contemplation,  make  the  world  my  cockpit, 
wherein  main  after  main  of  cocklets  — the  4 shell  ' alas ! 
scarce  4 off  their  heads  ’ — come  forth  to  slay  and  be 
slain  mutually,  for  no  quarrel,  except  4thou-cock  art 
not  me-cock,  therefore  fight ! ’ But  I had  as  soon  be 
the  devil  as  old  Lucretius,  to  sit  with  him  in  the  4 Sapientum 
templa  serena , despicere  unde  queas  alios , atque  cernere 
passim  err  antes  ' One  must  feel  for  one's  fellows — so 
much  better,  two  out  of  three  of  them  than  one's  self, 
though  they  will  fill  themselves  with  the  east  wind,  and 
be  proportionably  dyspeptic  and  sulky. 

44  Nobody  trusts  nobody.  The  clergy  are  split  up  into 
innumerable  parties,  principally  nomadic.  Everyone 
afraid  to  speak.  Everyone  unwilling  to  listen  to  his 
neighbor;  and  in  the  meantime  vast  sums  are  spent, 
and  vast  work  undertaken,  and  yet  nobody  is  content. 
Everybody  swears  we  are  going  backward.  Everybody 
swears  it  is  not  his  fault,  but  the  Evangelicals,  or  the 


I T I 


Needs  of  the  Church 

Puseyites,  or  the  Papists,  or  the  ministry ; or  everybody, 
in  short,  who  does  not  agree  with  him.  Pardon  this 
jeremiad,  but  I am  an  owl  in  the  desert,  and  it  is  too  sad 
to  see  a huge  and  busy  body  of  clergy  utterly  unable  to 
gain  the  confidence  or  spiritual  guidance  of  the  nation, 
and  yet  never  honestly  taking  the  blame  each  man  upon 
himself,  and  saying,  ‘ I,  not  ye,  have  sinned.’  . . . The 
principles  which  the  great  kings  and  bishops  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  and  our  reformers  of  the  16th  century  felt  to  be  the 
foundation  of  a Church  and  nation,  are  now  set  at  nought 
equally  by  those  who  pretend  to  worship  the  Middle  Ages, 
and  those  who  swear  by  the  reformers.  And  Popery  and 
Puritanism  seem  to  be  fighting  their  battle  over  again  in 
England,  on  the  foul  middle  ground  of  mammonite  infi- 
delity. They  are  re-appearing  in  weaker  and  less  sincere 
forms ; but  does  that  indicate  the  approach  of  their  in- 
dividual death,  or  our  general  decay?  He  who  will  tell 
me  this  shall  be  my  prophet;  till  then  I must  be  my  own. 
. . . My  game  is  gradually  opening  before  me,  and  my 
ideas  getting  developed,  and  ‘ fixed,’  as  the  Germans 
would  say.  But,  alas  ! as  Hare  has  it,  is  not  in  one 
sense  ‘ every  man  a liar  ’ ? false  to  his  own  idea  again 
and  again,  even  if,  which  is  rare  now-a-days,  we  have 
one  ? . . . What  times  we  live  in  ! I sometimes  long 
for  a St.  Francis,  with  a third  order  of  Minors,  to  lay 
hold  of  one’s  will,  soul,  and  body,  and  coax,  threaten, 
scourge  one  along  some  definite  path  of  doctrine  and 
labor.  The  latter  I have,  thank  God ; but  for  doctrines  ! 
Verily,  in  England,  doctrines,  as  Carlyle  says  of  customs 
in  France  in  ’93,  are  c a world  gone  entirely  to  chaos,  and 
all  things  jumbling  themselves  mutually  to  try  what  will 
swim  ! ? which,  alas  ! often  happens  to  be  the  lightest,  and 
not  the  worthiest.  Yet  still,  as  ever,  God’s  voice  is  heard 
through  the  roar,  ‘ He  that  doeth  my  will  shall  know  of 
the  doctrine  whether  it  be  of  God.’  Were  it  not  for  that 
text  I think  I should  sometimes  sit  down  ‘ astonished,’ 
and  pray  to  die  and  get  it  all  cleared  up.  Oh,  Salt 


1 1 2 Charles  Kingsley 

Asphaltic  lake  of  Polemics!  Oh,  teeming  tropic  sea 
of  Eros ! of  love  of  man  as  man,  of  marriage,  and 
lessons  which  the  hearth  and  home  alone  can  teach 
— Heaven’s  glories,  the  face  of  Christ  our  Lord  even 
mirrored  in  their  pure  Eden  depths  ! and  oh,  foolish 
heart  of  mine,  which  will  try  and  try  to  think  and  under- 
stand, instead  of  doing  and  loving ! I see  more  and 
more,  ‘ He  that  will  be  great,  must  be  least.’  He  that 
will  be  the  miracle  worker  must  first  become  like  a little 
child,  the  only  miracle  seer  left  in  these  materialist  days ! 
But  I am  ranting.  . . . God  bless  you  and  * * * *,  and 
admit  you  in  His  good  time  into  the  inner  temple  of  the 
Garden  of  Eden,  which  surely  exists  st;ill  on  earth,  for 
those  who  have  faith  and  purity  enough  to  believe  in 
their  own  high  honors.” 

Eversley  : December , 1846.  — " The  lips  of  my  soul 
water  — but  what  is  to  be  done  ? Parsons  in  these  parts 
are  like  rural  police  — one  suffices  for  a tract ! — ‘ qui 
mitros  fatigaret , ctgroj  and  I must  stay  at  home  for 
Sunday.  My  house  is  full  of  bricklayers,  carpenters, 
my  glebe  of  drainers  (till  they  are  frozen  out),  and  were 
I Geryon  himself  I could  not  come.  Be  sure  that  every- 
thing which  a man  possesses,  beyond  a mere  six-roomed 
cottage,  five  acres  of  freehold,  and  good  health,  is  vanity 
and  vexation  of  spirit  — thick  clay  wherewith  we  load 
ourselves  — more  wants  — more  petty  botherations  ; less 
books,  less  thought,  and,  alas,  less  prayer.  That ’s  the 
sum  of  it.  I am  seven  times  too  rich,  and  therefore  I ’m 
as  poor  as  Job,  and  entre  nous  glad  to  raise  a little  money 
to  repair  my  house.  Had  I been  Will  Barker  there  in 
the  drain,  I should  never  have  found  out  that  it  was  cold, 
and  damp,  and  shabby,  and  what  not.  Man  has  un- 
rivalled powers  of  self-adaptation  — ay,  of  adapting  him- 
self to  wanting  everything,  just  as  easily  as  to  wanting 
nothing ; there ’s  the  plague.  I begin  to  think  that,  barring 
community  of  wives,  Plato’s  <j>v\aKes  in  the  Republic  are  in 
the  only  state  fit  for  men  of  mind,  yet  discovered,  except  one 


Needs  of  the  Church  1 1 3 

— Sewell  is  not  far  out  there.  The  <f>v\aKcs  were  the  first 
shot  at  that  idea,  monasticism  the  second.  Shall  we  live  to 
see  the  foundations  of  a third  attempt  laid,  in  the  form  of 
an  author  guild,  or  brotherhood  of  genius?  Ask  Carlyle. 

“But  first,  young  men  of  this  day  must  get  faith.  I am 
more  and  more  painfully  awake  to  the  fact  that  the  curse 
of  our  generation  is  that  so  few  of  us  deeply  believe  any- 
thing. Men  dally  with  truth,  and  with  lies.  They  deal 
in  innuendoes,  impersonalities,  conditionalities  ; they  have 
no  indicative  mood  — no  I,  no  thou,  whereby  alone  have 
any  great  souls  conquered.  Hence  we  are  the  worst  of 
letter-writers.  If  two  men  quarrel  in  print,  they  do  not 
speak  to  each  other,  they  speak  at  each  other ; they  look 
the  other  way,  and  kick  like  horses,  or  something  worse. 
That  is  the  only  good  point  in  that  anonymous  stabber, 
the  6 Record,’  that  it  attacks  directly,  and  not  by  im- 
plication. The  Oxford  party  might  take  a lesson  there ; 
much  more  so  that  numerous  youth,  who,  now  that  the 
Tractarians  are  tired  of  playing  at  Popery,  are  keeping 
dilettantism’s  altar  alight  by  playing  at  Tractarianism  — 
the  shadow  of  a ghost  — the  sham  of  a sham.  Our 
intellects  are  getting  beyond  milk  and  water ; they  are 
becoming  mere  gas  and  bottled  moonshine,  from  Limbus 
Patrum  and  the  land  Plausible. 

“ My  friend,  we  must  pray  to  God  to  give  us  faith ; 
faith  in  something  — something  that  we  can  live  for,  and 
would  die  for.  Then  we  shall  be  ready  and  able  to  do 
good  in  our  generation.  Our  fixed  ideas  will  be  to  us 
Archimedes’  fulcra  in  space,  from  whence,  if  need  be,  he 
could  move  the  world.  Get  hold  of  some  one  truth. 
Let  it  blaze  in  your  sky,  like  a Greenland  sun,  never  set- 
ting day  or  night.  Give  your  soul  up  to  it;  see  it  in 
everything,  and  everything  in  it,  and  the  world  will  call 
you  a bigot  and  a fanatic,  and  then  wonder  a century 
hence,  how  the  bigot  and  fanatic  continued  to  do  so 
much  more  than  all  the  sensible  folk  round  him,  who 
believed  in  * * * and  * * 
vol.  1.  — 8 


1 1 4 Charles  Kingsley 

December , 1846. — “ My  whole  heart  is  set  not  on 
retrogression,  outward  or  inward,  but  on  progression  — 
not  on  going  back  in  the  least  matter  to  any  ideal  age  or 
system,  but  on  fairly  taking  the  present  as  it  is,  not  as  I 
should  like  it  to  be;  and  believing  that  Jesus  Christ  is 
still  working  in  all  honest  and  well-meaning  men  — see 
what  are  the  elements  of  spiritual  good  in  the  present  age, 
and  try  as  an  artist  to  embody  them,  not  in  old  forms  but 
in  new  ones.  . . . The  new  element  is  democracy,  in 
Church  and  State.  Waiving  the  question  of  its  evil  or 
its  good,  we  cannot  stop  it.  Let  us  Christianize  it  instead  ; 
and  if  you  fear  that  you  are  therein  doing  evil  that  good 
may  come,  oh ! consider,  consider  carefully,  whether 
democracy  (I  do  not  mean  foul  license,  or  pedantic  con- 
stitution-mongering,  but  the  rights  of  man  as  man  — his 
individual  and  direct  responsibility  to  God  and  the  State, 
on  the  score  of  mere  manhood  and  Christian  grace)  be 
not  the  very  pith  and  marrow  of  the  New  Testament  — 
whether  the  noble  structures  of  mediaeval  hierarchy  and 
monarchy  were  not  merely  ‘ schoolmasters  ’ to  bring 
Europe  to  Christ  — ‘ tutors  and  governors  ’ till  mankind 
be  of  age,  and  fit  for  a theocracy  in  which  men  might 
live  by  faith  in  an  unseen,  yet  spiritually  and  sacramentally 
present  king,  and  have  no  king  but  Him?  I say  consider 
this,  for  I speak  with  fear  and  trembling  — not  expecting 
to  be  heard  by  those  whom  I most  long  should  hear  me 
— and  yet  perfectly  content  to  wait  Christ’s  time  till  the 
age  is  ripe,  be  it  to-morrow  century  — through  years  of 
dead  monarchy,  atheistic  aristocrat  jobbing,  unrestored 
Church  lands,  and  ecclesiastical  system  which  is  powerless, 
alas ! equally  against  Popery  and  dissent,  and  whatsoever 
else  the  Blessed  One  shall  choose  to  make  our  waiting  and 
probationary  state.  I am  no  revolutionist.  Whatever 
soul-sufficing  truth  men  have,  in  God’s  name  let  them 
keep  it.  ‘ The  real  struggle  of  the  day  will  be,  not 
between  Popery  and  Protestantism,  but  between  Atheism 
and  Christ/  And  here  we  are  daubing  walls  with  un- 


Needs  of  the  Church  115 

tempered  mortar  — quarrelling  about  how  we  shall  patch 
the  superstructure,  forgetting  that  the  foundation  is  gone 

— Faith  in  anything.  As  in  the  days  of  Noah  with  the 
Titans  — as  in  the  days  of  Mahomet  with  the  Christian 
sects  of  the  East — they  were  eating,  and  drinking,  and 
quarrelling,  no  doubt,  and  behold  the  flood  came  and 
swept  them  all  away.  And  even  such  to  me  seems  the 
prospect  of  the  English  Church.  . . 

To  his  wife : 

Eversley:  May,  1846.  — “.  . . I got  home  at  four 
this  morning  after  a delicious  walk  — a poem  in  itself. 
I never  saw  such  a sight  before  as  the  mists  on  the  heath 
and  valleys,  and  never  knew  what  a real  bird-chorus  was. 
I am  lonely  enough,  but  right  glad  I came,  as  there  is 
plenty  to  do.  ...  I shall  start  to-morrow  morning,  and 
walk  on  to  you  at  Shanklin.  St.  Elizabeth  progresses, 
and  consolidates.  ...  I have  had  a great  treat  to-day ; 
saw  a swarm  of  bees  hived,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life. 
I stood  in  the  middle  of  the  flying  army,  and  saw  the 
whole  to  my  great  delight.  Certainly  man,  even  in  the 
lowest  grade,  is  infinitely  wonderful,  and  infinitely  brave 

— give  him  habit  and  self-confidence.  To  see  all  those 

little  poisonous  insects  crawling  over  H.,  wrapt  in  the 
one  thought  of  their  new-born  sister-queen  ! I hate  to 
think  that  it  is  vile  self-interest  — much  less  mere  brute 
magnetism  (called  by  the  ignorant  4 instinct ’),  which  takes 
with  them  the  form  of  loyalty,  prudence,  order,  self-sacri- 
fice. How  do  we  know  that  they  have  no  souls  ? ‘ The 

beasts  which  perish  ? ’ Ay,  but  put  against  that  4 the 
spirit  of  the  beast  which  goeth  downward  to  the  earth ? — 
and  whither  then  ? 4 Man  perished},’  too,  in  scripture 

language,  yet  not  for  ever.  But  I will  not  dream. 

“ I fancy  you  and  baby  playing  in  the  morning.  Bless 
you  my  two  treasures.  ...  I had  a most  interesting  day 
yesterday  in  London.  Called  on  * and  found  him 
undergoing  all  the  horrors  of  a deep,  and  as  I do  think, 


1 1 6 Charles  Kingsley 

healthy  baptism  of  fire  — not  only  a conversion,  but  a 
discovery  that  God  and  the  devil  are  living  realities,  fight- 
ing for  his  body  and  soul.  This,  in  a man  of  vast  thought 
and  feeling,  who  has  been  for  years  a confirmed 
materialist,  is  hard  work.  He  entreated  me  not  to  leave 
him.  . . . God  help  us  all,  and  save  our  country  — not 
so  much  from  the  fate  of  France,  as  from  the  fate  of  Rome 
— internal  decay,  and  falling  to  pieces  by  its  own  weight ; 
but  I will  say  no  more  of  this  — perhaps  I think  too  much 
about  it.  . . 

1846  passed  uneventfully  in  the  routine  of  parish 
work  and  domestic  happiness.  He  never  cared  to 
leave  his  quiet  home,  doubly  enriched  by  the  pres- 
ence of  a little  daughter.  A singing  class  was 
started  on  Hullah’s  plan  to  improve  the  church 
music,  which  had  been  hitherto  in  the  hands  of 
three  or  four  poor  men,  with  a trombone  and  two 
clarionets.  This,  and  other  adult  classes,  brought 
his  people  on  several  nights  in  the  week  up  to  the 
rectory,  where  the  long  unfurnished  dining-room 
served  the  purpose  of  schoolroom.  In  1847  his 
eldest  son  was  born,  and  named  after  Mr.  Maurice, 
who,  with  Mr.  Powles,  stood  sponsor  to  the  boy.  In 
the  summer  he  took  his  wife  and  two  children  for 
six  weeks  to  Milford,  a little  sea-side  place  near  the 
edge  of  the  New  Forest.  It  was  his  first  real  holi- 
day since  his  marriage,  which  he  earned  by  taking 
the  Sunday  services  of  Pennington,  near  Lyming- 
ton.  Here  he  had  the  new  luxury  of  a horse,  and 
explored  the  forest,  dear  to  him  from  old  associa- 
tions with  his  father’s  youth1  and  manhood,  day  by 
day,  with  deep  delight.  In  the  enjoyment  of  the 
sea-shore  with  his  beloved  ones,  with  leisure  to 


1 See  page  1 of  this  volume. 


The  Saint’s  Tragedy  1 17 

watch  his  babies  at  play,  and  in  solitary  rides,  his 
heart’s  spring  bubbled  up  into  song  once  more, 
and  he  wrote  many  ballads,  — among  them,  “ The 
Red  King,”  the  “ Outlaw,”  “ Oh,  she  tripp’d  over 
Ocknell  plain.”  It  was  only  either  at  some  great 
crisis  of  his  life,  or  when  his  surroundings  were,  as 
now,  in  perfect  harmony,  that  he  could  write 
poetry.  Here,  too,  he  laid  up  a store  of  impres- 
sions for  a New  Forest  Novel  which  was  begun 
many  years  later,  but  never  completed. 

This  year  his  “ Life  of  St.  Elizabeth,”  which  was 
begun  in  prose  in  1842,  and  had  been  gradually 
growing  under  his  hand,  took  the  form  of  a drama. 
He  finished  it  in  the  summer  : but  being  doubtful 
as  to  whether  it  was  worth  printing,  he  decided 
nothing  till  he  had  consulted  the  Dean  of  Windsor 
and  other  friends  on  whose  judgment  and  poetical 
verdict  he  could  rely.  Their  opinion  was  unani- 
mous ; but  the  difficulty  was  to  find  a publisher  who 
would  undertake  the  work  of  a young  and  unknown 
author.  He  took  the  MSS.  to  London,  from 
whence  he  wrote  to  his  wife : 

“ I breakfasted  with  Maurice  this  morning,  and  went 
over  a great  deal  of  St.  Elizabeth,  and  I cannot  tell  you 
how  thankful  I am  to  God  about  it.  He  has  quite  changed 
his  mind  about  scene  1.  of  act  ii.,  Elizabeth’s  bower.  He 
read  it  to  Powles,  who  is  decidedly  for  keeping  it  in  just 
as  it  is,  and  thinks  it  ought  to  offend  no  one.  He  is  very 
desirous  to  show  the  MSS.  to  A.  G.  Scott,  Mrs.  H., 
Coleridge,  Tennyson,  and  Van  Artevelde  Taylor.  He 
says  that  it  ought  to  do  great  good  with  those  who  can 
take  it  in,  but  for  those  who  cannot,  it  ought  to  have  a 
preface ; and  has  more  than  hinted  that  he  will  help  me 
to  one,  by  writing  me  something  which,  if  I like,  I can 
prefix.  What  more  would  you  have?  . . . Coleridge’s 


1 1 8 Charles  Kingsley 

opinion  of  the  poem  is  far  higher  than  I expected.  He 
sent  me  to  Pickering  with  a highly  recommendatory  note  ; 
which,  however,  joined  with  Maurice’s  preface,  was  not 
sufficient  to  make  him  take  the  risk  off  my  hands.  I am 
now  going  to  Parker’s,  in  the  Strand.  I am  at  once  very 
happy,  very  lonely,  and  very  anxious.  How  absence  in- 
creases love ! It  is  positively  good  sometimes  to  be 
parted,  that  one’s  affection  may  become  conscious 
of  itself,  and  proud,  and  humble,  and  thankful 
accordingly.  ...” 

“.  . . St.  Elizabeth1  is  in  the  press,”  he  writes  joy- 
fully a few  days  later  to  Mr.  Powles,  “ having  been  taken 
off  my  hands  by  the  heroic  magnanimity  of  Mr.  J.  Parker, 
West  Strand,  who,  though  a burnt  child,  does  not  dread 
the  fire.  No  one  else  would  have  it.  Maurice’s  preface 
comes  out  with  it,  and  is  inestimable  not  only  to  I 
myself,  I,  but  to  all  men  who  shall  have  the  luck  to  read 
it,  and  the  wit  to  understand  it.” 

1 This  was  published  under  the  name  of  “ The  Saint’s  Tragedy.” 

(M.  K.) 


CHAPTER  VI 


1848 
Aged  29 

Publication  of  “ Saint's  Tragedy  " — Parish  Work  — 
Chartist  Riots  — Tenth  of  April  — Work  in  London 

— Politics  for  the  People — Parson  Lot  — A Profes- 
sorship at  Queen's  College  — Croyland  Abbey  — Let- 
ters to  his  Child  — Advice  to  an  Author — “Yeast" 

— Illness  — The  Higher  View  of  Marriage  — Devon- 
shire. 


“ This  is  true  liberty  when  freeborn  men 
Having  to  advise  the  public  may  speak  free ; 

Which  he  who  can  or  will,  deserves  high  praise ; 

Who  neither  can,  nor  will,  may  hold  his  peace  ; 

What  can  be  juster  in  a state  like  this  ? " 

Euripides,  Translation  by  Milton. 


THIS  year,  so  marked  in  the  history  of 
Europe,  was  one  of  the  most  important  of 
Charles  Kingsley’s  life.  “ The  Saint’s  Tragedy,” 
which  was  published  soon  after  Christmas,  gave 
him  in  one  sense  a new  position,  especially  among 
young  men  at  the  universities.  It  was  eagerly 
read  at  Oxford,  and  fiercely  attacked  by  the  high 
church  party,  who  were  made  still  more  bitter 
against  its  author  by  the  publication  of  “ Yeast  ” 
in  the  summer.  He  was  surprised  himself  to  find 
the  interest  the  drama  had  excited  at  Oxford ; and 
while  on  a visit  there  he  writes  to  his  wife : 


y 


“ I may,  I suppose,  tell  you  that  I am  here  under- 
going the  new  process  of  being  made  a lion  of,  at  least  so 


120  Charles  Kingsley 

Powles  tells  me.  They  got  up  a meeting  for  me,  and  the 
club  was  crowded  with  men  merely  to  see  poor  me,  so  I 
found  out  afterwards  : very  lucky  that  I did  not  know  it 
during  the  process  of  being  trotted  out.  It  is  very  funny 
and  new.  I dine  this  afternoon  with  Conington;  to- 
morrow with  Palgrave ; Monday  with  Stanley,  and  so  on. 
I like  Conington  very  much  ; he  is  a good,  hearty  piece  of 
nature ; and  I like  his  review  of  the  ‘ Saint's  Tragedy,' 
very  much.  Of  course  he  did  not  go  to  the  bottom  on 
the  Love  and  Marriage  question;  but  there  he  showed 
his  sense.  . . .” 

“ Kingsley  had  not,”  says  a friend  in  speaking  of  this 
period,  “ I think,  the  least  notion  he  would  find  himself 
famous,  but  he  was  so  among  a not  inconsiderable  section 
of  young  Oxford,  even  one  month  after  the  drama  had 
appeared.  A large  number  of  us  were  thoroughly  dissat- 
isfied with  the  high  church  teaching,  which  then  was  that 
of  the  most  earnest  tutors  in  Oxford.  There  were,  in- 
deed, some  noble  exceptions,  — Jowett  of  Balliol,  Powles 
of  Exeter,  Congreve  of  Wadham,  Stanley  of  University, 
Clough  of  Oriel.  But  they  were  scattered,  and  their  in- 
fluence was  over  men  here  and  there  ; the  high-churchmen 
held  the  mass  of  intelligent  young  men,  many  of  whom 
revolted  in  spirit,  yet  had  not  found  a leader.  Here  was 
a book  which  showed  that  there  was  poetry  also  in  the 
strife  against  asceticism,  whose  manly  preface  was  as 
stirring  as  the  verse  it  heralded.  We  look  at  its  author 
with  the  deepest  interest ; it  was  a privilege  to  have  been 
in  the  room  with  him.” 

Though  it  excited  no  great  interest  in  the  liter- 
ary world  in  England,  it  was  read  and  appreciated 
in  Germany;  and  in  the  highest  quarters  in  this 
country  the  genius  of  the  author  was  recognized. 
Baron  de  Bunsen  thus  expresses  his  opinion  in 
strong,  some  may  think  extravagant,  terms  to  Pro- 
fessor Max  Muller,  some  years  later: 


I 21 


The  Saint’s  Tragedy 

“ As  showing  Kingsley’s  dramatic  power  I do  not  hesi- 
tate to  call  ‘ The  Saint’s  Tragedy  ’ and  ‘ Hypatia/  by  far 
the  most  important  and  perfect  works.  In  these,  I find 
the  justification  of  a hope  that  Kingsley  might  continue 
Shakespeare’s  historical  plays.  I have  for  several  years 
made  no  secret  of  it,  that  Kingsley  seems  to  me  the 
genius  of  our  country  called  to  place  by  the  side  of  that 
sublime  dramatic  series  from  King  John  to  Henry  VIII., 
another  series  from  Edward  VI.  to  the  landing  of  Wil- 
liam of  Orange.  . . . The  tragedy  of  ‘ St.  Elizabeth  ’ 
shows  that  Kingsley  can  grapple,  not  only  with  the  novel, 
but  with  the  more  severe  rules  of  dramatic  art.r  And 
‘ Hypatia’  proves  on  the  largest  scale  that  he  can  discover 
in  the  picture  of  the  historical  past,  the  truly  human,  the 
deep,  the  permanent,  and  that  he  knows  how  to  represent 
it.  How,  with  all  this,  he  can  hit  the  fresh  tone  of 
popular  life,  and  draw  humorous  characters  and  compli- 
cations with  Shakespearian  energy  is  proved  by  all  his 
works.  And  why  should  he  not  undertake  this  great 
task  ? There  is  a time  when  the  true  poet,  the  prophet  of 
the  present,  must  bid  farewell  to  the  questions  of  the  day, 
which  seem  so  great  because  they  are  so  near,  but  are,  in 
truth,  but  small  and  unpoetical.  He  must  say  to  himself, 
i Let  the  dead  bury  their  dead  : ’ and  the  time  has  come 
that  Kingsley  should  do  so.” 

The  political  events  of  1848  which  shook  all 
Europe  to  its  very  foundation,  stirred  his  blood, 
and  seemed  for  the  time  to  give  him  a super- 
natural strength,  which  kept  up  till  the  autumn, 
when  he  completely  broke  down. 

“ It  is  only  by  an  effort,”  says  Mr.  Tom  Hughes,  in 
his  Preface  to  “ Alton  Locke/’  “that  one  can  now  realize 
the  strain  to  which  the  nation  was  subjected  during  that 
winter  and  spring,  and  which,  of  course,  tried  every  indi- 
vidual man  also,  according  to  the  depth  and  earnestness 


122  Charles  Kingsley 

of  his  political  and  social  convictions  and  sympathies. 
The  group  of  men  who  were  working  under  Mr.  Maurice 
were  no  exceptions  to  the  rule.  The  work  of  teaching 
and  visiting  was  not,  indeed,  neglected,  but  the  larger 
questions  which  were  being  so  strenuously  mooted  — the 
points  of  the  people’s  charter,  the  right  of  public  meeting, 
the  attitude  of  the  laboring  class  to  the  other  classes, 
absorbed  more  and  more  of  their  attention.  Kingsley 
was  very  deeply  impressed  with  the  gravity  and  danger  of 
the  crisis  — more  so,  I think,  than  almost  any  of  his 
friends ; probably  because,  as  a country  parson,  he  was 
more  directly  in  contact  with  one  class  of  the  poor  than 
any  of  them.  How  deeply  he  felt  for  the  agricultural 
poor,  how  faithfully  he  reflected  the  passionate  and  rest- 
less sadness  of  the  time,  may  be  read  in  the  pages  of 
‘Yeast/  which  came  out  later  in  ‘ Fraser.’  As  the  winter 
months  went  on  this  sadness  increased,  and  seriously 
affected  his  health.” 

“ So  vividly  did  he  realize  the  sufferings  of  the  poor,” 
to  quote  another  friend,  “ so  keenly  did  he  feel  what  he 
deemed  the  callousness  and  incompetence  of  the  Govern- 
ment  and  the  mass  of  the  upper  classes  to  alleviate  them, 
that  at  times  he  seemed  to  look,  with  trembling,  for  the 
coming  of  great  and  terrible  social  convulsions,  of  a ‘ day 
of  the  Lord,’  such  as  Isaiah  looked  for,  as  the  inevitable 
fate  of  a world  grown  evil,  yet  governed  still  by  a right- 
eous God.  In  later  years  this  feeling  gradually  left  him. 
But  it  was  no  mere  pulpit  or  poetic  gust.  It  penetrated 
(I  think)  occasionally  even  to  the  lesser  matters  of  daily 
life.  Late  one  dark  night  he  called  me  out  to  him  into 
the  garden  to  listen  to  a distant  sound,  which  he  told  me 
was  a fox’s  bark,  bidding  me  remember  it,  for  foxes 
might  soon  cease  to  be  in  England,  and  I might  never 
hear  one  bark  again.” 

It  was  while  in  this  state  of  mind  that  he  wrote 
“ The  Day  of  the  Lord.”  — [Poems,  p.  263.] 

His  parish  work  this  year  was  if  possible  more 


Parish  Work 


1 23 

vigorous  than  ever.  Every  winter’s  evening  was 
occupied  with  either  night-school  at  the  rectory, 
about  thirty  men  attending;  or  little  services  in 
the  outlying  cottages  for  the  infirm  and  laboring 
men  after  their  day’s  work.  During  the  spring 
and  summer  a writing  class  was  held  for  girls  in 
the  empty  coach-house ; a cottage  school  for  in- 
fants was  opened  on  the  common  — all  preparing 
the  way  for  the  national  school  that  was  built 
some  years  later,  and  for  which  the  teacher  was  in 
training.  The  parish  made  a great  step  forward. 
The  number  of  communicants  increased.  The 
Passion  week  daily  services  and  sermons  seemed 
to  borrow  intenser  fervor  and  interest  from  his 
sympathy  in  the  strange  events  of  the  great  world 
outside  the  small  quiet  parish,  and  though  poorly 
attended,  still  gathered  together  a few  laboring 
folk.  He  preached  to  his  people  on  emigration, 
on  poaching,  and  on  the  political  and  social  dis- 
turbances of  the  day.  He  wrote  his  first  article 
for  “ Fraser’s  Magazine,”  “ Why  should  we  fear 
the  Romish  Priests?”  following  up  his  “ Saint’s 
Tragedy,”  which  had  struck  the  key  note  of  the 
after  work  of  his  life;  and  “ Yeast”  now  was 
seething  in  his  mind.  In  addition  to  parish  and 
literary  work  he  accepted  the  professorship  of 
English  Literature  and  Composition  at  Queen’s 
College,  then  in  its  infancy,  of  which  Mr.  Maurice 
was  President,  and  lectured  once  a week  in  Lon- 
don. He  was  also  proposed  for  the  professorship 
of  Modern  History  at  King’s  College.  He  was  in 
constant  communication  with  Mr.  Maurice  and  the 
knot  of  remarkable  men  who  gathered  round  him, 
and  made  acquaintance  with  Bishop  Stanley  of 
Norwich,  and  his  distinguished  son;  with  Thomas 


i 24  Charles  Kingsley 

Carlyle,  Archdeacon  Hare,  Thomas  Hughes,  Tom 
Taylor,  Arthur  Helps,  John  Hullah,  John  Malcolm 
Ludlow,  and  many  others  at  work  in  the  same 
cause. 

On  the  news  of  the  Chartist  rising  and  petition 
reaching  Eversley,  he  determined,  having  closed 
his  evening  classes  in  the  parish  for  the  winter,  to 
go  to  London  to  see  what  was  going  on ; and  on 
the  morning  of  the  10th  of  April  went  up  with  his 
friend  Mr.  John  Parker,  publisher,  who  had  been 
spending  the  Sunday  at  Eversley.  Mr.  Parker, 
like  many  owners  of  property  in  London,  was 
nervous  and  anxious  about  the  results  of  the  day, 
telling  Mrs.  Kingsley,  half  in  joke  as  he  left  the 
door,  that  she  might  expect  to  hear  of  his  shop 
having  been  broken  into,  and  himself  thrown  into 
the  Trafalgar  Square  fountains  by  the  mob.  On 
arriving  in  town,  they  went  to  the  Strand,  then  on 
to  Mr.  Maurice's;  and  in  the  afternoon  Mr.  Kings- 
ley and  Mr.  Ludlow  walked  to  Kennington  Com- 
mon, where  pouring  rain  damped  the  spirits  of  the 
crowds  assembled.  By  midday  post  he  wrote  to 
his  wife. 

“.  . . All  is  right  as  yet.  Large  crowds,  but  no  one 
expects  any  row,  as  the  Chartists  will  not  face  Westminster 
Bridge,  but  are  gone  round  by  London  Bridge  and  Hol- 
born,  and  are  going  to  send  up  only  the  legal  number  of 
delegates  to  the  House.  The  only  fear  is  marauding  in 
the  suburbs  at  night ; but  do  not  fear  for  me,  I shall  be 
safe  at  Chelsea  at  5.  I met  Colonel  Herman,  who  says 
there  is  no  danger  at  all,  and  the  two  Mansfields,  who  are 
gone  as  specials,  to  get  hot,  dusty,  and  tired  — nothing 
else.  I will  write  by  the  latest  post.  . . .” 

April  11,  8 a.  m.  — “All  as  quiet  as  a mouse  as  yet. 
The  storm  is  blown  over  till  to-morrow,  but  all  are  under 


Chartist  Riots  125 

arms  — specials,  police,  and  military.  Maurice  is  in 
great  excitement.  He  has  sent  me  to  Ludlow,  and  we 
are  getting  out  placards  for  the  walls,  to  speak  a word  for 
God  with.  You  must  let  me  stay  up  to-night,  for  I am 
helping  in  a glorious  work;  and  I go  to  breakfast  with 
Maurice  now,  and  to  spend  the  evening  with  Archdeacon 
Hare,  Scott,  and  himself.  Send  down  to  the  cottage 
lecture,  and  say  I shall  not  have  it  till  Saturday,  and  say 
that  the  riots  have  kept  me.  I feel  we  may  do  something. 
Pray  for  us  that  God  may  guide  us,  and  open  our  mouths 
to  speak  boldly.” 

Evening.  — “ The  events  of  a week  have  been  crowded 
into  a few  hours.  I was  up  till  4 this  morning,  writing 
posting  placards  under  Maurice's  auspices,  one  of  which 
is  to  be  got  out  to-morrow  morning,  the  rest  when  we 
can  get  money.  Could  you  not  beg  a few  sovereigns 
somewhere,  to  help  these  poor  wretches  to  the  truest 
alms?  — to  words  — texts  from  the  Psalms,  any  thing 
which  may  keep  one  man  from  cutting  his  brother's  throat 
to-morrow  or  Friday?  Pray,  pray,  help  us.  Maurice 
has  given  me  the  highest  proof  of  confidence.  He  has 
taken  me  into  counsel,  and  we  are  to  have  meetings  for 
prayer  and  study,  when  I come  up  to  London,  and  we 
are  to  bring  out  a new  set  of  real  4 Tracts  for  the  Times, 
addressed  to  the  higher  orders.  Maurice  is  a la  hauteur 
des  circonstances  — determined  to  make  a decisive  move. 
He  says : ‘ If  the  Oxford  tracts  did  wonders,  why  should 
not  we?'  Pray  for  us.  A glorious  future  is  opening, 
and  both  Maurice  and  Ludlow  seem  to  have  driven  away 
all  my  doubts  and  sorrows,  and  I see  the  blue  sky  again 
and  my  Father's  face  ! ” 

April  12.  — “.  . . I really  cannot  go  home  this 
afternoon.  I have  spent  it  with  Archdeacon  Hare,  and 
Parker,  starting  a new  periodical  — a Penny  ‘People's 
Friend/  in  which  Maurice,  Hare,  Ludlow,  Mansfield, 
and  I,  &c.  are  going  to  set  to  work,  to  supply  the  place 
of  the  defunct  ‘Saturday  Magazine.'  I send  you  my 


1 26  Charles  Kingsley 

first  placard.  Maurice  is  delighted  with  it.  I cannot  tell 
you  the  interest  which  it  has  excited  with  every  one  who 
has  seen  it.  It  brought  the  tears  into  old  Parker's  eyes, 
who  was  once  a working  printer's  boy.  I have  got  already 
£2  10s.  towards  bringing  out  more,  and  Maurice  is  sub- 
scription-hunting for  me.  He  took  me  to  Jelf  to-day, 
the  King’s  College  principal,  who  received  me  very  kindly, 
and  expressed  himself  very  anxious  to  get  me  the  profes- 
sorship. I will  be  down  at  Winchfield  to-morrow.  Kiss 
the  babes  for  me.  Parker  begs  to  remark  that  he  has 
not  been  thrown  into  the  Trafalgar  fountain.  ...” 

This  was  the  Placard : 

“WORKMEN  OF  ENGLAND !” 

“You  say  that  you  are  wronged.  Many  of  you  are 
wronged  ; and  many  besides  yourselves  know  it.  Almost 
all  men  who  have  heads  and  hearts  know  it  — above  all, 
the  working  clergy  know  it.  They  go  into  your  houses, 
they  see  the  shameful  filth  and  darkness  1 in  which  you 
are  forced  to  live  crowded  together ; they  see  your  chil- 
dren growing  up  in  ignorance  and  temptation,  for  want 
of  fit  education ; they  see  intelligent  and  well-read  men 
among  you,  shut  out  from  a Freemen’s  just  right  of  voting ; 
and  they  see  too  the  noble  patience  and  self-control  with 
which  you  have  as  yet  borne  these  evils.  They  see  it, 
and  God  sees  it. 

“ Workmen  of  England  ! You  have  more  friends 
than  you  think  for.  Friends  who  expect  nothing  from 
you,  but  who  love  you,  because  you  are  their  brothers, 
and  who  fear  God,  and  therefore  dare  not  neglect  you, 
His  children ; men  who  are  drudging  and  sacrificing 
themselves  to  get  you  your  rights ; men  who  know  what 
your  rights  are,  better  than  you  know  yourselves,  who  are 
trying  to  get  for  you  something  nobler  than  charters  and 
dozens  of  Acts  of  Parliament  — more  useful  than  this 


1 The  Window  tax  was  not  then  taken  off. 


Tenth  of  April  127 

‘ fifty  thousandth  share  in  a Talker  in  the  National  Palaver, 
at  Westminster  ’ 1 can  give  you.  You  may  disbelieve 
them,  insult  them  — you  cannot  stop  their  working  for 
you,  beseeching  you,  as  you  love  yourselves,  to  turn  back 
from  the  precipice  of  riot,  which  ends  in  the  gulf  of  uni- 
versal distrust,  stagnation,  starvation.  You  think  the 
Charter  would  make  you  free  — would  to  God  it  would  ! 
The  Charter  is  not  bad;  if  the  men  who  use  it  are  not 
bad!  But  will  the  Charter  make  you  free?  Will  it  free 
you  from  slavery  to  ten-pound  bribes  ? Slavery  to  beer 
and  gin?  Slavery  to  every  spouter  who  flatters  your 
self-conceit,  and  stirs  up  bitterness  and  headlong  rage  in 
you  ? That,  I guess,  is  real  slavery ; to  be  a slave  to 
one’s  own  stomach,  one’s  own  pocket,  one’s  own  temper. 
Will  the  Charter  cure  that  ? Friends,  you  want  more 
than  Acts  of  Parliament  can  give. 

“ Englishmen  ! Saxons  ! Workers  of  the  great,  cool- 
headed,  strong-handed  nation  of  England,  the  workshop 
of  the  world,  the  leader  of  freedom  for  700  years,  men 
say  you  have  common-sense  ! then  do  not  humbug  your- 
selves into  meaning  ‘license, ’ when  you  cry  for  ‘liberty.’ 
Who  would  dare  refuse  you  freedom?  for  the  Almighty 
God,  and  Jesus  Christ,  the  poor  Man,  who  died  for  poor 
men,  will  bring  it  about  for  you,  though  all  the  Mammon- 
ites  of  the  earth  were  against  you.  A nobler  day  is 
dawning  for  England,  a day  of  freedom,  science,  industry  ! 
But  there  will  be  no  true  freedom  without  virtue,  no  true 
science  without  religion,  no  true  industry  without  the  fear 
of  God,  and  love  to  your  fellow-citizens. 

“Workers  of  England,  be  wise,  and  then  you  must  be 
free,  for  you  will  be  fit  to  be  free. 

“A  Working  Parson.” 

On  the  15  th,  he  returned  to  Eversley  much  ex- 
hausted. He  preached  on  the  Chartist  riots  to  his 
own  people  the  following  Sunday;  and  now  work- 


1 Carlyle. 


128  Charles  Kingsley 

ing  in  his  parish,  writing  for  the  “ Politics,” 
and  preparing  his  lectures  for  Queen’s  College, 
filled  up  every  moment  of  time.  The  various 
writers  for  the  new  periodical  continually  came 
to  Eversley  to  talk  over  their  work  with  and  con- 
sult him. 

Mr.  Hughes,  speaking  of  the  distinct  period  of 
Charles  Kingsley’s  life  extending  from  1848  to 
1856,  says : 

“ . . . Look  at  them  from  what  point  we  will,  these 
years  must  be  allowed  to  cover  an  anxious  and  critical 
time  in  modern  English  history ; but,  above  all,  in  the 
history  of  the  working  classes.  In  the  first  of  them  the 
Chartist  agitation  came  to  a head  and  burst,  and  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  great  movement  towards  association,  which, 
developing  in  two  directions  and  by  two  distinct  methods 
— represented  respectively  by  the  amalgamated  Trades 
Unions  and  Co-operative  Societies  — has  in  the  interven- 
ing years  entirely  changed  the  conditions  of  the  labor 
question  in  England,  and  the  relations  of  the  working  to 
the  upper  and  middle  classes.  It  is  with  this,  the  social 
and  industrial  side  of  the  history  of  those  years,  that  we 
are  mainly  concerned.  . . . Our  purpose  is  to  give  some 
slight  sketch  of  him  ...  in  the  character  in  which  he 
was  first  widely  known,  as  the  most  out-spoken  and 
powerful  of  those  who  took  the  side  of  the  laboring 
classes,  at  a critical  time  — the  crisis  in  a word,  when 
they  abandoned  their  old  political  weapons,  for  the  more 
potent  one  of  union  and  association,  which  has  since 
carried  them  so  far.  To  no  one  of  all  those  by  whom 
his  memory  is  tenderly  cherished  can  this  seem  a super- 
fluous task,  for  no  writer  was  ever  more  misunderstood  or 
better  abused  at  the  time,  and  after  the  lapse  of  almost 
a quarter  of  a century,  the  misunderstanding  would  seem 
still  to  hold  its  ground.  For  through  all  the  many  notices 
of  him  which  appeared  after  his  death,  in  January,  1875, 


Work  in  London 


1 29 

there  ran  the  same  apologetic  tone  as  to  this  part  of  his 
life's  work.  While  generally,  and  as  a rule  cordially, 
recognizing  his  merits  as  an  author  and  a man,  the  writers 
seemed  to  agree  in  passing  lightly  over  this  ground. 
When  it  was  touched  it  was  in  a tone  of  apology, 
sometimes  tinged  with  sarcasm,  as  in  the  curt  notice 
in  the  ‘ Times  ’ — ‘ He  was  understood  to  be  the  Par- 
son Lot  of  those  “ Politics  for  the  People  ” which  made 
no  little  noise  in  their  time,  and  as  Parson  Lot  he  de- 
clared in  burning  language  that  to  his  mind  the  fault  in 
the  “ People’s  Charter  ” was  that  it  did  not  go  nearly  far 
enough.’  And  so  the  writer  turns  away,  as  do  most  of 
his  brethren,  leaving  probably  some  such  impression  as 
this  on  the  minds  of  most  of  their  readers  — ‘ Young  men 
of  power  and  genius  are  apt  to  start  with  wild  notions. 
He  was  no  exception.  Parson  Lot’s  sayings  and  doings 
may  well  be  pardoned  for  what  Charles  Kingsley  said  and 
did  in  after  years ; so  let  us  drop  a decent  curtain  over 
them,  and  pass  on.’  Now  as  almost  a generation  has 
passed  since  that  signature  used  to  appear  at  the  foot  of 
some  of  the  most  noble  and  vigorous  writing  of  our  time, 
readers  of  to-day  are  not  unlikely  to  accept  this  view, 
and  so  to  find  further  confirmation  and  encouragement 
in  the  example  of  Parson  Lot  for  the  mischievous  and 
cowardly  distrust  of  anything  like  enthusiasm  amongst 
young  men,  already  sadly  too  prevalent  in  England.  If 
it  were  only  as  a protest  against  this  ‘ surtout  point 
de  zele ’ spirit,  against  which  it  was  one  of  Charles 
Kingsley’s  chief  tasks  to  fight  with  all  his  strength, 
it  is  well  that  the  facts  should  be  set  right.  . . . My 
first  meeting  with  him  was  in  the  autumn  of  1847.  • • • 
Mr.  Maurice  had  undertaken  the  charge  of  a small  dis- 
trict in  the  parish  in  which  he  lived,  and  had  set  a number 
of  young  men,  chiefly  students  of  the  Inns  of  Court,  who 
had  been  attracted  by  his  teaching,  to  work  in  it.  Once 
a week,  on  Monday  evenings,  they  used  to  meet  at  his 
house  for  tea,  when  their  own  work  was  reported  upon 
vol.  1.  — 9 


130  Charles  Kingsley 

and  talked  over.  Suggestions  were  made  and  plans  con- 
sidered ; and  afterwards  a chapter  of  the  Bible  was  read 
and  discussed.  Friends  and  old  pupils  of  Mr.  Maurice’s, 
residing  in  the  country,  or  in  distant  parts  of  London, 
were  in  the  habit  of  coming  occasionally  to  these  meet- 
ings, amongst  whom  was  Charles  Kingsley.  His  poem, 

‘ The  Saint’s  Tragedy,’  and  the  high  regard  and  admira- 
tion which  Mr.  Maurice  had  for  him,  made  him  a notable 
figure  in  that  small  society,  and  his  presence  was  always 
eagerly  looked  for.  What  impressed  me  most  about  him 
when  we  first  met  was  his  affectionate  deference  to  Mr. 
Maurice,  and  the  vigor  and  incisiveness  of  everything  he 
said  and  did.  He  had  the  power  of  cutting  out  what  he 
meant  in  a few  clear  words,  beyond  any  one  I have  ever 
met.  The  next  thing  that  struck  one  was  the  ease  with 
which  he  could  turn  from  playfulness,  or  even  broad 
humor,  to  the  deepest  earnest.  At  first  I think  this 
startled  most  persons,  until  they  came  to  find  out  the  real 
deep  nature  of  the  man ; and  that  his  broadest  humor 
had  its  root  in  a faith  which  realized,  with  extraordinary 
vividness,  the  fact  that  God’s  Spirit  is  actively  abroad  in 
the  world,  and  that  Christ  is  in  every  man,  and  made  him 
hold  fast,  even  in  his  saddest  moments,  — and  sad  mo- 
ments were  not  infrequent  with  him,  — the  assurance  that, 
in  spite  of  all  appearances,  the  world  was  going  right,  and 
would  go  right  somehow,  ‘ Not  your  way,  or  my  way,  but 
God’s  way.’  The  contrast  of  his  humility  and  audacity, 
of  his  distrust  in  himself  and  confidence  in  himself,  was 
one  of  those  puzzles  which  meet  us  daily  in  this  world  of 
paradox.  But  both  qualities  gave  him  a peculiar  power 
for  the  work  he  had  to  do  at  that  time,  with  which  the 
name  of  Parson  Lot  is  associated.  It  was  at  one  of  these 
gatherings,  towards  the  end  of  1847  or  early  in  1848, 
when  Kingsley  found  himself  in  a minority  of  one,  that 
he  said  jokingly,  he  felt  much  as  Lot  must  have  felt  in  the 
Cities  of  the  Plain,  when  he  seemed  as  one  that  mocked 
to  his  sons-in-law.  The  name  Parson  Lot  was  then  and 


Work  in  London  131 

there  suggested,  and  adopted  by  him,  as  a familiar  nom 
de  plume.  . . . The  name  was  chiefly  made  famous  by 
his  writings  in  6 Politics  for  the  People/  the  ‘ Christian 
Socialist/  and  the  ‘ Journal  of  Association/  . . . by  ‘ Alton 
Locke/  and  by  tracts  and  pamphlets,  of  which  the  best 
known  [is]  ‘ Cheap  Clothes,  and  Nasty.’  ...  In  order 
to  understand  and  judge  the  sayings  and  writings  of 
Parson  Lot  fairly,  it  is  necessary  to  recall  the  condition  of 
the  England  of  that  day.  — Through  the  winter  of  1847-8, 
amidst  wide-spread  distress,  the  cloud  of  discontent,  of 
which  Chartism  was  the  most  violent  symptom,  had  been 
growing  darker  and  more  menacing,  while  Ireland  was 
only  held  down  by  main  force.  The  breaking  out  of  the 
revolution  on  the  Continent  in  February  increased  the 
danger.  In  March  there  were  riots  in  London,  Glasgow, 
Edinburgh,  Liverpool,  and  other  large  towns.  ...”  1 

On  the  6th  of  May  the  first  number  of  “ Politics 
for  the  People  ” appeared.  Its  regular  contribu- 
tors were  nearly  all  university  men,  clergymen  of 
the  Church  of  England,  London  barristers,  men  of 
science;  among  them  Archdeacon  Hare,  Sir 
Arthur  Helps,  Professor  Conington,  and  a well 
known  London  physician.  A few  letters  from 
working  men  were  admitted.  It  was  a remark- 
able though  short-lived  publication;  and  those 
whose  opinions  of  the  “ Radicals,  Socialists, 
Chartists,”  who  set  it  on  foot,  were  formed  by 
the  public  press,  without  having  read  the  book  it- 
self, would  be  surprised  at  the  loyal,  conservative, 
serious  tone  of  its  contents,  and  the  gravity,  if  not 
severity,  with  which  it  attacked  physical  force 
Chartism,  monster  meetings,  and  the  demand  for 
universal  suffrage  by  men  who  had  neither  educa- 

1 Preface  to  “ Alton  Locke,”  and  “ Cheap  Clothes,  and  Nasty,” 
by  Thomas  Hughes,  Q.C. 


i 3 2 Charles  Kingsley 

tion  nor  moral  self-government  to  qualify  them  for 
a vote.  Extracts  are  now  given  from  his  Letters  to 
Chartists,  to  avoid  misconception  as  to  “ that  burn- 
ing language ” of  which  the  “ Times”  of  January 
25th,  1875,  speaks,  which  Parson  Lot  used  when 
he  said  “ that  the  People's  Charter  did  not  go  far 
enough"  : 

“ My  Friends,  — 

“ If  I give  you  credit  for  being  sincere,  you  must  give 
me  credit  for  being  so  too.  I am  a radical  reformer.  I 
am  not  one  of  those  who  laugh  at  your  petition  of  the 
1 oth  of  April ; I have  no  patience  with  those  who  do. 
Suppose  there  were  but  250,000  honest  names  on  that 
sheet.  Suppose  the  Charter  itself  were  all  stuff,  yet 
you  have  still  a right  to  fair  play,  a patient  hearing,  an 
honorable  and  courteous  answer,  whichever  way  it  may 
be.  But  my  only  quarrel  with  the  Charter  is,  that  it  does 
not  go  far  enough  in  reform . I want  to  see  you  free; 
but  I do  not  see  how  what  you  ask  for  will  give  you  what 
yoii  want.  I think  you  have  fallen  into  just  the  same 
mistake  as  the  rich  of  whom  you  complain  — the  very 
mistake  which  has  been  our  curse  and  our  nightmare: 
I mean,  the  mistake  of  fancying  that  legislative  reform 
is  social  reform,  or  that  men’s  hearts  can  be  changed  by 
Act  of  Parliament.  If  any  one  will  tell  me  of  a country 
where  a charter  made  the  rogues  honest,  or  the  idle  indus- 
trious, I shall  alter  my  opinion  of  the  Charter,  but  not  till 
then.  It  disappointed  me  bitterly  when  I read  it.  It 
seems  a harmless  cry  enough,  but  a poor,  bald,  constitu- 
tion-mongering  cry  as  I ever  heard.  That  French  cry  of 
4 Organization  of  Labor  ’ is  worth  a dozen  of  it,  and  yet  that 
does  not  go  to  the  bottom  of  the  matter  by  many  a mile. 

“ But  I have  a more  serious  complaint  against  Chartism 
than  this,  and  because  I love  you  well,  and,  God  is  my 
witness,  would  die  to  make  you  free,  and  am,  even  now, 
pleading  your  cause  with  all  my  powers,  I shall  not  be 


Politics  for  the  People  133 

afraid  to  rebuke  you  boldly  at  first.  Why  do  you  your- 
selves blacken  Chartism  in  people’s  eyes  ? Why  do  you 
give  a fair  handle  for  all  the  hard  things  which  are  said  of 
you  ? I mean  this,  and  I speak  honestly  of'what  happened 
to  my  own  self.  The  other  day,  being  in  London,  I said 
to  myself,  ‘ I will  see  what  the  Chartists  are  saying  and 
doing  just  now  ’ ; and  I set  off  to  find  a Chartist  news- 
paper, and  found  one  in  a shop  where  ‘The  People’s 
Charter,’  and  ‘ Lamartine’s  Address  to  the  Irish  Deputa- 
tion,’ and  various  Chartist  books  were  sold.  Now,  as  a 
book,  as  well  as  a man,  may  be  known  by  his  companions, 
I looked  round  the  shop  to  see  what  was  the  general  sort 
of  stock  there,  and,  behold,  there  was  hardly  anything  but 
‘ Flash  Songsters,’  and  the  ‘Swell’s  Guide,’  and  ‘Tales  of 
Horror,’  and  dirty  milksop  French  novels.  I opened  the 
leading  article  of  the  paper,  and  there  were  fine  words 
enough,  and  some  really  noble  and  eloquent  words,  too, 
which  stirred  my  blood  and  bropght  the  tears  into  my 
eyes,  about  ‘ divine  liberty,’  and  ‘ heaven-born  fraternity,’ 
and  the  ‘ cause  of  the  poor  being  the  cause  of  God  ’ ; 
all  which  I knew  well  enough  before,  from  a very  different 
‘ Reformer’s  Guide,’  to  which  I hope  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  introducing  you  some  day.  ‘ Well,’  I said  to  myself, 
‘ the  cause  of  God  seems  to  have  fallen  into  ugly  company. 
If  poverty  sends  a man  to  strange  bed-fellows,  “divine 
liberty  ” must  be  in  a very  poor  way  ; heaven-born  brother- 
hood has  fraternized  here  with  some  very  blackguard 
brethen.’  ...  No ! as  I read  on,  I found  that  almost 
the  only  books  puffed  in  the  advertising  column  of  the 
paper  itself  were  the  same  French  dirt  which  lay  on  the 
counter : ‘Voltaire’s  Tales,’  ‘Tom  Paine,’  and  by  way  of 
a finish,  ‘ The  Devil’s  Pulpit ! ’ . . . ‘ Well,’  I thought : 
‘ These  are  strange  times  ! I had  thought  the  devil  used 
to  befriend  tyrants  and  oppressors,  but  he  seems  to  have 
profited  by  Burns’  advice,  to  ‘tak’  a thought  an’  men’.’ 
I thought  the  struggling  freeman’s  watchword  was,  ‘ God 
sees  my  wrongs,  He  hath  taken  the  matter  into  His  own 


134  Charles  Kingsley 

hands,  the  poor  committeth  himself  unto  Him,  for  He  is 
the  helper  of  the  friendless/  But  now  the  devil  seems 
all  at  once  to  have  turned  philanthropist*  and  patriot,  and 
to  intend  himself  to  fight  the  good  cause,  against  which 
he  has  been  fighting  ever  since  Adam’s  time.  I don’t 
deny,  my  friends,  it  is  much  cheaper  and  pleasanter  to  be 
reformed  by  the  devil  than  by  God ; for  God  will  only 
reform  society  On  condition  of  our  reforming  every  man 
his  own  self  — while  the  devil  is  quite  ready  to  help  us  to 
mend  the  laws  and  the  parliament,  earth  and  heaven,  with- 
out ever  starting  such  an  impertinent  and  c personal  ’ re- 
quest, as  that  a man  should  mend  himself.  That  liberty 
of  the  subject  he  will  always  respect. 

“ But  I must  say  honestly,  whomsoever  I may  offend, 
the  more  I have  read  of  your  convention  speeches  and 
newspaper  articles  the  more  convinced  I am  that  too 
many  of  you  are  trying  to  do  God’s  work  with  the  devil’s 
tools.  What  is  the  use  of  brilliant  language  about  peace, 
and  the  majesty  of  order,  and  universal  love,  though  it 
may  all  be  printed  in  letters  a foot  long,  when  it  runs  in 
the  same  team  with  ferocity,  railing,  mad  one-eyed  excite- 
ment, talking  itself  into  a passion  like  a street-woman? 
Do  you  fancy  that  after  a whole  column  spent  in  stirring 
men  up  to  fury,  a few  twaddling  copy-book  headings 
about  the  c sacred  duty  of  order  ’ will  lay  the  storm  again  ? 
What  spirit  is  there  but  the  devil’s  spirit,  in  bloodthirsty 
threats  of  revenge  ? What  brotherhood  ought  you  to  have 
with  the  6 United  Irishmen  ’ party,  who  pride  themselves 
on  their  hatred  to  your  nation,  and  recommend  schemes 
of  murder  which  a North  American  Indian,  trained  to 
scalping  from  his  youth,  would  account  horrible  ? When 
they  have  learnt  that  ‘ Justice  to  Ireland’  does  not  mean 
hell  broke  loose  there ; when  they  have  repented  and 
amended  of  their  madness,  as  God  grant  they  may,  then 
you  may  treat  them  as  brothers ; but  till  then,  those  who 
bid  them  God-speed  are  partakers  of  their  evil  deeds.  In 
the  name  of  liberty  and  brotherhood,  in  the  name  of  the 


Parson  Lot 


1 35 

poor  man’s  cause  and  the  poor  man’s  God,  I protest 
against  this  unnatural  alliance  ! I denounce  the  weapons 
which  you  have  been  deluded  into  employing,  to  gain  you 
your  rights,  and  the  indecency  and  profligacy  which  you 
are  letting  be  mixed  up  with  them  ! Will  you  strengthen 
and  justify  your  enemies?  Will  you  disgust  and  cripple 
your  friends?  Will  you  go  out  of  your  way  to  do 
wrong?  When  you  can  be  free  by  fair  means,  will 
you  try  foul  ? When  you  might  keep  the  name  of  liberty 
as  spotless  as  the  heaven  from  whence  she  comes,  will 
you  defile  her  with  blasphemy,  beastliness,  and  blood  ? 
When  the  cause  of  the  poor  is  the  cause  of  Almighty 
God,  will  you  take  it  out  of  His  hands  to  entrust  it  to  the 
devil?  These  are  bitter  questions,  but  as  you  answer 
them  so  will  you  prosper.  ‘ Be  fit  to  be  free,  and  God 
Himself  will  set  you  free/  Do  God’s  work,  and  you  will 
share  God’s  wages.  ‘ Trust  in  the  Lord,  and  be  doing 
good,  dwell  in  the  land,  and,  verily,  thou  shalt  be  fed. 
Commit  thy  way  unto  the  Lord,  and  He  shall  bring  it  to 
pass/  For  the  time  is  near,  at  last,  my  friends,  even  at 
the  doors,  when  those  glorious  old  words  shall  be  fulfilled  : 

‘ Thou,  Lord,  hast  heard  the  desire  of  the  poor : Thou 
preparest  their  heart,  and  Thine  ear  hearkeneth  thereto ; 
to  help  the  fatherless  and  the  poor  unto  their  right,  that 
the  man  of  the  world  be  no  more  exalted  against  them  ! * 

“ Parson  Lot.” 

In  Letter  II.  he  tells  them  that  “ the  Bible  demands  for 
the  poor  as  much,  and  more,  than  they  demand  for  them- 
selves ; it  expresses  the  deepest  yearnings  of  the  poor 
man’s  heart  far  more  nobly,  more  searchingly,  more 
daringly,  more  eloquently,  than  any  modern  orator  has 
done.  I say,  it  gives  a ray  of  hope  — say  rather  a certain 
dawn  of  a glorious  future,  such  as  no  universal  suffrage, 
free  trade,  communism,  organization  of  labor,  or  any 
other  Morrison ’s-pill  measure  Can  give  — and  yet  of  a 
future,  which  will  embrace  all  that  is  good  in  these,  a 


136  Charles  Kingsley 

future  of  conscience,  of  justice^  of  freedom,  when  idlers 
and  oppressors  shall  no  more  dare  to  plead  parchments 
and  Acts  of  Parliament  for  their  iniquities.  I say  the 
Bible  promises  this,  not  in  a few  places  only,  but  through- 
out : it  is  the  thought  which  runs  through  the  whole  Bible, 
justice  from  God  to  those  whom  men  oppress,  glory  from 
God  to  those  whom  men  despise.  Does  that  look  like 
the  invention  of  tyrants  and  prelates  ? You  may  sneer ; 
but  give  me  a fair  hearing,  and  if  I do  not  prove  my 
words,  then  call  me  the  same  hard  name  which  I shall  call 
any  man  who,  having  read  the  Bible,  denies  that  it  is  the 
poor  man’s  comfort,  and  the  rich  man’s  warning.” 

“ I think,”  said  Mr.  Hughes,  ct  I know  every  line  which 
was  ever  published  under  the  signature,  4 Parson  Lot/  and 
I take  it  upon  myself  to  say  that  there  is  in  all  that  4 burn- 
ing language’  nothing  more  revolutionary  than  the  ex- 
tracts given  from  his  letters  to  the  Chartists.  ...  In  the 
early  summer  of  1848,  some  of  those  who  felt  with  him 
that  the  4 People’s  Charter  ’ had  not  had  fair  play  or 
courteous  treatment,  and  that  those  who  signed  it  had 
real  wrongs  to  complain  of,  put  themselves  into  communi- 
cation with  the  leaders,  and  met  and  talked  with  them. 
At  last  it  seemed  that  the  time  was  come  for  some  more 
public  meeting,  and  one  was  called  at  the  Cranbourn 
Tavern,  over  which  Mr.  Maurice  presided.  After  the 
president’s  address,  several  very  bitter  speeches  followed, 
and  a vehement  attack  was  specially  directed  against  the 
church  and  the  clergy.  The  meeting  waxed  warm,  and 
seemed  likely  to  come  to  no  good,  when  Kingsley  rose, 
folded  his  arms  across  his  chest,  threw  his  head  back, 
and  began  — with  the  stammer  which  always  came  at  first 
when  much  moved  but  which  fixed  everyone’s  attention  at 
once  — 4 1 am  a Church  of  England  parson  ’ — a long 
pause  — ' and  a Chartist  ’ ; and  then  he  went  on  to  ex- 
plain how  far  he  thought  them  right  in  their  claim  for  a 
reform  of  Parliament ; how  deeply  he  sympathized  with 


Parson  Lot 


1 37 

their  sense  of  the  injustice  of  the  law  as  it  affected  them ; 
how  ready  he  was  to  help  in  all  ways  to  get  these  things 
set  right ; and  then  to  denounce  their  methods  in  very 
much  the  same  terms  as  I have  already  quoted  from  his 
letters  to  the  Chartists.  Probably  no  one  who  was  present 
ever  heard  a speech  which  told  more  at  the  time.  . . . 
The  fact  is,  that  Charles  Kingsley  was  born  a fighting 
man,  and  believed  in  bold  attack.  ‘No  human  power 
ever  beat  back  a resolute  forlorn  hope/  he  used  to  say; 
‘ to  be  got  rid  of,  they  must  be  blown  back  with  grape  and 
canister,  because  the  attacking  party  have  all  the  universe 
behind  them,  the  defence  only  that  small  part  which  is 
shut  up  in  their  walls.*  And  he  felt  most  strongly  at  this 
time  that  hard  fighting  was  needed.  . . . The  memo- 
rials of  his  many  controversies  lie  about  in  the  periodi- 
cals of  that  time,  and  any  one  who  cares  to  hunt  them  up 
will  be  well  repaid,  and  struck  with  the  vigor  of  the  defence, 
and  still  more  with  the  complete  change  in  public  opinion 
which  has  brought  the  England  of  to-day  clean  round  to 
the  side  of  Parson  Lot.1  . . 

Among  his  contributions  to  “ Politics  for  the 
People  ” were  the  first  three  of  a projected  series  on 
the  National  Gallery  and  the  British  Museum. 

NO.  I.  — NATIONAL  GALLERY 

“ Picture-galleries  should  be  the  workman’s  paradise,  a 
garden  of  pleasure,  to  which  he  goes  to  refresh  his  eyes 
and  heart  with  beautiful  shapes  and  sweet  coloring,  when 
they  are  wearied  with  dull  bricks  and  mortar,  and  the  ugly 
colorless  things  which  fill  the  workshop  and  the  factory. 
For,  believe  me,  there  is  many  a road  into  our  hearts 
besides  our  ears  and  brains  ; many  a sight,  and  sound,  and 
scent,  even,  of  which  we  have  never  thought  at  all,  sinks 
into  our  memory,  and  helps  to  shape  our  characters  ; and 
thus  children  brought  up  among  beautiful  sights  and  sweet 
sounds  will  most  likely  show  the  fruits  of  their  nursing,  by 
1 Preface  to  “ Alton  Locke,”  by  T.  Hughes,  Q.  C. 


138  Charles  Kingsley 

thoughtfulness,  and  affection,  and  nobleness  of  mind,  even 
by  the  expression  of  the  countenance.  The  poet  Words- 
worth, talking  of  training  up  a beautiful  country  girl,  says  : 

6 The  floating  clouds  their  state  shall  lend 
To  her  — for  her  the  willow  bend  ; 

Nor  shall  she  fail  to  see, 

Even  in  the  motions  of  the  storm, 

Grace  which  shall  mould  the  maiden's  form , 

By  silent  sy?npathy. 

And  she  shall  bend  her  ear 

In  many  a secret  place 

Where  rivulets  dance  their  wayward  round, 

And  beauty , born  of  murmuring  sound \ 

Shall  pass  into  her  face' 

“ Those  who  live  in  towns  should  carefully  remember 
this,  for  their  own  sakes,  for  their  wives’  sakes,  for  their 
children’s  sakes.  Never  lose  an  opportunity  of  seeing  any- 
thing beautiful.  Beauty  is  God’s  handwriting  — a way- 
side  sacrament ; welcome  it  in  every  fair  face,  every  fair 
sky,  every  fair  flower,  and  thank  for  it  Him , the  fountain 
of  all  loveliness,  and  drink  it  in,  simply  and  earnestly,  with 
all  your  eyes  ; it  is  a charmed  draught,  a cup  of  blessing. 

“ Therefore  I said  that  picture-galleries  should  be  the 
townsman’s  paradise  of  refreshment.  Of  course,  if  he 
can  get  the  real  air,  the  real  trees,  even  for  an  hour,  let 
him  take  it  in  God’s  name ; but  how  many  a man  who 
cannot  spare  time  for  a daily  country  walk,  may  well  slip 
into  the  National  Gallery,  or  any  other  collection  of  pic- 
tures, for  ten  minutes.  That  garden,  at  least,  flowers  as 
gaily  in  winter  as  in  summer.  Those  noble  faces  on  the 
wall  are  never  disfigured  by  grief  or  passion.  There,  in 
the  space  of  a single  room,  the  townsman  may  take  his 
country  walk  — a walk  beneath  mountain  peaks,  blushing 
sunsets,  with  broad  woodlands  spreading  out  below  it ; a 
walk  through  green  meadows,  under  cool  mellow  shades, 
and  overhanging  rocks,  by  rushing  brooks,  where  he 


Parson  Lot 


'39 

watches  and  watches  till  he  seems  to  hear  the  foam  whis- 
per, and  to  see  the  fishes  leap ; and  his  hard-worn  heart 
wanders  out  free,  beyond  the  grim  city-world  of  stone  and 
iron,  smoky  chimneys,  and  roaring  wheels,  into  the  world 
of  beautiful  things  — the  world  which  shall  be  hereafter  — 
ay,  which  shall  be  ! Believe  it,  toil-worn  worker,  in  spite 
of  thy  foul  alley,  thy  crowded  lodging,  thy  grimed  cloth- 
ing, thy  ill-fed  children,  thy  thin,  pale  wife  — believe  it, 
thou  too,  and  thine,  will  some  day  have  your  share 
of  beauty.  God  made  you  love  beautiful  things  only 
because  He  intends  hereafter  to  give  you  your  fill  of 
them.  That  pictured  face  on  the  wall  is  lovely,  but  love- 
lier still  may  the  wife  of  thy  bosom  be  when  she  meets 
thee  on  the  resurrection  morn  ! Those  baby  cherubs  in 
the  old  Italian  painting  — how  gracefully  they  flutter  and 
sport  among  the  soft  clouds,  full  of  rich  young  life  and 
baby  joy  ! Yes,  beautiful,  indeed,  but  just  such  a one  at 
this  very  moment  is  that  once  pining,  deformed  child  of 
thine,  over  whose  death-cradle  thou  wast  weeping  a 
month  ago ; now  a child-angel,  whom  thou  shalt  meet 
again  never  to  part ! Those  landscapes,  too,  painted  by 
loving,  wise  old  Claude,  two  hundred  years  ago,  are  still 
as  fresh  as  ever.  How  still  the  meadows  are  ! how  pure 
and  free  that  vault  of  deep  blue  sky ! No  wonder  that 
thy  worn  heart,  as  thou  lookest,  sighs  aloud,  ‘ Oh  that  I 
had  wings  as  a dove,  then  would  I flee  away  and  be  at 
rest.’  Ay,  but  gayer  meadows  and  bluer  skies  await  thee 
in  the  world  to  come  — that  fairy-land  made  real  — ‘ the 
new  heavens  and  the  new  earth,’  which  God  has  prepared 
for  the  pure  and  the  loving,  the  just  and  the  brave,  who 
have  conquered  in  this  sore  fight  of  life  ! 

“ These  thoughts  may  seem  all  too  far-fetched  to 
spring  up  in  a man’s  head  from  merely  looking  at  pic- 
tures ; but  it  is  not  so  in  practice.  See,  now,  such 
thoughts  have  sprung  up  in  my  head;  how  else  did  I 
write  them  down  here  ? And  why  should  not  they,  and 
better  ones,  too,  spring  up  in  your  heads,  friends  ? It  is 


140  Charles  Kingsley 

delightful  to  watch  in  a picture-gallery  some  street-boy 
enjoying  himself;  how  first  wonder  creeps  over  his  rough 
face,  and  then  a sweeter,  more  earnest,  awe-struck  look, 
till  his  countenance  seems  to  grow  handsomer  and  nobler 
on  the  spot,  and  drink  in  and  reflect  unknowingly,  the 
beauty  of  the  picture  he  is  studying.  See  how  some 
laborer’s  face  will  light  up  before  the  painting  which  tells 
him  a noble  story  of  by-gone  days.  And  why?  Be- 
cause he  feels  as  if  he  himself  had  a share  in  the  story  at 
which  he  looks.  They  may  be  noble  and  glorious  men 
who  are  painted  there ; but  they  are  still  men  of  like 
passions  with  himself,  and  his  man’s  heart  understands 
them  and  glories  in  them ; and  he  begins,  and  rightly,  to 
respect  himself  the  more  when  he  finds  that  he,  too,  has 
a fellow  feeling  with  noble  men  and  noble  deeds. 

“ I say,  pictures  raise  blessed  thoughts  in  me  — why 
not  in  you,  my  brothers?  Your  hearts  are  fresh,  thought- 
ful, kindly ; you  only  want  to  have  these  pictures  ex- 
plained to  you,  that  you  may  know  why  and  how  they  are 
beautiful,  and  what  feelings  they  ought  to  stir  in  your 
minds ; and  therefore  I wish,  with  your  good  will,  to 
explain,  one  by  one,  in  future  numbers,  some  of  the  best 
pictures  in  the  National  Gallery,  and  the  statues  in  the 
British  Museum.  I shall  begin  by  a portrait  or  two ; 
they  are  simpler  than  large  pictures,  and  they  speak  of 
real  men  and  women  who  once  lived  on  this  earth  of 
ours  — generally  of  remarkable  and  noble  men  — and 
man  should  be  always  interesting  to  man.  And  as  these 
papers  go  on,  if  any  one  of  you,  in  any  part  of  England, 
will  be  so  kind  as  to  mention  well-known  statues  and  pic- 
tures of  any  sort  which  you  wish  explained,  I,  Parson 
Lot,  shall  be  most  happy  to  tell  you  as  much  about  them 
as  God  shall  give  me  wits  to  find  out.” 

NO.  II.  — NATIONAL  GALLERY 

“Any  one  who  goes  to  the  National  Gallery  in  Trafal- 
gar Square,  and  passes  right  through  into  the  furthest 


Parson  Lot 


I4I 

room  of  all,  cannot  help  seeing  in  the  left-hand  corner 
two  large  and  beautiful  pictures  — the  nearer  of  the  two 
labelled  ‘ Titian/  representing  Bacchus  leaping  from  a 
car  drawn  by  leopards.  The  other,  labelled  4 Francia/ 
representing  the  Holy  Family  seated  on  a sort  of  throne, 
with  several  figures  arranged  below  — one  of  them  a man 
pierced  with  arrows.  Between  these  two,  low  down, 
hangs  a small  picture,  about  two  feet  square,  containing 
only  the  portrait  of  an  old  man,  in  a white  cap  and  robe, 
and  labelled  on  the  picture  itself,  ‘ Joannes  Bellinus .’ 
Now  this  old  man  is  a very  ancient  friend  of  mine,  and 
has  comforted  my  heart,  and  preached  me  a sharp  ser- 
mon, too,  many  a time.  I never  enter  that  gallery  with- 
out having  five  minutes’  converse  with  him ; and  yet  he 
has  been  dead  at  least  three  hundred  years,  and,  what  is 
more,  I don't  even  know  his  name.  I believe  I might 
have  found  out  if  I had  taken  the  trouble  to  ask  — but 
how  much  should  I have  been  the  wiser  ? What  more  do 
I know  of  a man  by  knowing  his  name  ? It  amuses  me 
much,  in  the  world,  when  one  asks,  ‘ Who  is  that  man  ? 9 
to  be  answered,  ‘ Oh  ! don’t  you  know  ? — that ’s  Mr. 
Brown,  who  married  Mrs.  Smith’s  daughter ; ’ and  so  on. 
Bah ! Whether  the  man’s  name  be  Brown,  or  whether  he 
has  as  many  names  and  titles  as  a Spanish  grandee,  what 
does  that  tell  me  about  the  man  ? — the  spirit  and  char- 
acter of  the  Man  — what  the  man  will  say  when  he  is 
asked  — what  the  man  will  do  when  he  is  stirred  up  to 
action?  The  man’s  name  is  part  of  his  clothes  ; his  shell ; 
his  husk.  Change  his  name  and  all  his  titles,  you  don’t 
change  him  — 6 A man ’s  a man  for  a’  that,’  as  Burns  says  ; 
and  a goose  a goose.  Other  men  gave  him  his  name ; 
but  his  heart  and  his  spirit  — his  love  and  his  hatred  — 
his  wisdom  and  his  folly  — his  power  to  do  well  and  ill ; 
those  God  and  himself  gave  him.  I must  know  those, 
and  then  I know  the  man. 

“ Let  us  see  what  we  can  make  out  from  the  picture  it- 
self about  the  man  whom  it  represents.  In  the  first  place, 


142  Charles  Kingsley 

we  may  see  by  his  dress  that  he  was  in  his  day  the  Doge 
(or  chief  magistrate)  of  Venice  — the  island  city,  the 
queen  of  the  seas.  So  we  may  guess  that  he  had  many  a 
stirring  time  of  it,  and  many  a delicate  game  to  play 
among  those  tyrannous  and  covetous  old  merchant- 
princes  who  had  elected  him  ; who  were  keeping  up  their 
own  power  at  the  expense  of  every  one’s  liberty,  by  spies 
and  nameless  accusers,  and  secret  councils,  tortures,  and 
prisons,  whose  horrors  no  one  ever  returned  to  describe. 
Nay,  we  may  guess  just  the  very  men  with  whom  he  had 
to  deal  — the  very  battles  he  may  have  seen  fought,  for 
the  painter’s  name  on  the  picture  shows  when  he 
lived. 

“ But  all  these  are  circumstances  — things  which  stand 
round  the  man  (as  the  word  means),  and  not  the  whole  man 
himself — not  the  character  and  heart  of  the  man:  that 
we  must  get  from  the  portrait ; and  if  the  portrait  is  a 
truly  noble  portrait  we  shall  get  it.  If  it  is  a merely  vul- 
gar or  naturalist  picture,  like  most  that  are  painted  now- 
a-days,  we  shall  get  the  man’s  dress  and  shape  of  his  face, 
but  little  or  no  expression  : if  it  is  a pathetic  portrait,  or 
picture  of  passion,  we  shall  get  one  particular  temporary 
expression  of  his  face  — perhaps  joy,  sorrow,  anger,  dis- 
gust — but  still  one  which  may  have  passed  any  moment, 
and  left  his  face  quite  different ; but  if  the  full  expression 
of  the  man’s  picture  is  of  the  noblest  kind,  an  ideal  or 
high  art  picture,  we  shall  get  the  whole  spirit  — we  shall 
read  his  whole  character  there ; just  all  his  strength  and 
weakness,  his  kindliness  or  his  sternness,  his  thoughtful- 
ness or  his  carelessness,  written  there  once  and  for  ever ; 
— what  he  would  be,  though  all  the  world  passed  away ; 
what  his  immortal  and  eternal  soul  will  be,  unless  God  or 
the  devil  changed  his  heart,  to  all  eternity. 

“ This  is  a deep  matter.  We  shall  get  at  it  step  by  step, 
by  many  examples.  Let  us  see,  now,  whether  this  is  an 
ideal  portrait ; in  short,  if  it  gives  us  a full  idea  of  a com- 
plete character,  so  that  we  should  know  him  if  any  one 


Parson  Lot 


T43 

talked  to  us  of  his  character,  even  without  telling  us  his 
likeness. 

“ We  may  see  at  once  that  he  has  been  very  hand- 
some ; but  it  is  a peculiar  sort  of  beauty.  How  delicate 
and  graceful  all  the  lines  in  his  face  are  ! — he  is  a gentle- 
man of  God’s  own  making,  and  not  of  the  tailor’s  making. 
He  is  such  a gentleman  as  I have  seen  among  working- 
men and  nine-shilling-a-week  laborers,  often  and  often ; 
his  nobleness  is  in  his  heart  — it  is  God’s  gift,  therefore  it 
shows  in  his  noble-looking  face.  No  matter  whether  he 
were  poor  or  rich ; all  the  rags  in  the  world,  all  the  finery 
in  the  world,  could  not  have  made  him  look  like  a snob  or 
a swell.  He  was  a thoughtful  man,  too ; no  one  with 
such  a forehead  could  have  been  a trifler  : a kindly  man, 
too,  and  honest  — one  that  may  have  played  merrily 
enough  with  his  grandchildren,  and  put  his  hand  in  his 
purse  for  many  a widow  and  orphan.  Look  what  a 
bright,  clear,  straightforward,  gentle  look  he  has,  almost  a 
smile ; but  he  has  gone  through  too  many  sad  hours  to 
smile  much : he  is  a man  of  many  sorrows,  like  all  true 
and  noble  rulers ; and,  like  a high  mountain-side,  his  face 
bears  the  furrows  of  many  storms.  He  has  had  a stern 
life  of  it,  what  with  tyrant  noblemen,  and  wayward  snobs, 
and  the  cares  of  a great  nation  on  his  shoulders.  He  has 
seen  that  in  this  world  there  is  no  rest  for  those  who  live 
like  true  men : you  may  see  it  by  the  wrinkles  in  his 
brow,  and  the  sharp-cut  furrows  in  his  cheeks,  and  those 
firm-set,  determined  lips.  His  eyes  almost  show  the 
marks  of  many  noble  tears,  — tears  such  as  good  men 
shed  over  their  nation’s  sins  ; but  that,  too,  is  past  now. 
He  has  found  out  his  path,  and  he  will  keep  it ; and  he 
has  no  misgiving  now  about  what  God  would  have  him 
do,  or  about  the  reward  which  God  has  laid  up  for  the 
brave  and  just ; and  that  is  what  makes  his  forehead  so 
clear  and  bright,  while  his  very  teeth  are  clenched  with 
calm  determination.  And  by  the  look  of  those  high 
cheek  bones,  and  that  large  square  jaw,  he  is  a strong- 


144  Charles  Kingsley 

willed  man  enough,  and  not  one  to  be  easily  turned  aside 
from  his  purpose  by  any  man  alive,  or  by  any  woman 
either,  or  by  his  own  passions  and  tempers.  One  fault  of 
character,  I think,  he  may  perhaps  have  had  much 
trouble  with  — I mean  bitterness  and  contemptuousness. 
His  lips  are  very  thin ; he  may  have  sneered  many  a 
time,  when  he  was  younger,  at  the  follies  of  the  world 
which  that  great,  lofty,  thoughtful  brain  and  clear  eye  of 
his  told  him  were  follies ; but  he  seems  to  have  got  past 
that  too.  Such  is  the  man’s  character  : a noble,  simple, 
commanding  old  man,  who  has  conquered  many  hard 
things  and,  hardest  of  all,  has  conquered  himself,  and 
now  is  waiting  calmly  for  his  everlasting  rest.  God  send 
us  all  the  same. 

“Now  consider  the  deep  insight  of  old  John  Bellini, 
who  could  see  all  this,  and  put  it  down  there  for  us  with 
pencil  and  paint ; better  far,  more  livingly  and  speakingly, 
than  I could  describe  it  to  you  in  a dozen  letters. 

“No  doubt  there  was  something  in  old  John’s  own 
character  which  made  him  especially  able  to  paint  such  a 
man ; for,  as  I have  read,  he  was  much  such  a man  him- 
self, and  we  always  understand  those  best  who  are  most 
like  ourselves ; and  therefore  you  may  tell  pretty  nearly  a 
painter’s  own  character  by  seeing  what  sort  of  subjects  he 
paints,  and  what  his  style  of  painting  is.  And  a noble, 
simple,  brave,  godly  man  was  old  John  Bellini,  and  never 
lost  his  head,  though  princes  were  flattering  him  and 
snobs  following  him  with  shouts  and  blessings  for  his 
noble  pictures  of  the  Venetian  victories,  as  if  he  had  been 
a man  sent  from  God  Himself ; as  indeed  he  was,  as  all 
great  painters  are ; for  who  but  God  makes  beauty  ? 
Who  gives  the  loving  heart,  and  the  clear  eye,  and  the 
graceful  taste  to  see  beauty  and  to  copy  it,  and  to  set 
forth  on  canvas,  or  in  stone,  the  noble  deeds  of  patriots 
dying  for  their  country?  To  paint  truly  patriotic  pictures 
well,  a man  must  have  his  heart  in  his  work  — he  must  be 
a true  patriot  himself,  as  John  Bellini  was  (if  I mistake 


Parson  Lot  145 

not,  he  had  fought  for  his  country  himself  in  more  than 
one  shrewd  fight).  And  what  makes  men  patriots,  or 
artists,  or  anything  noble  at  all,  but  the  spirit  of  the  living 
God  ? Those  great  pictures  of  Bellini’s  are  no  more ; 
they  were  burnt  a few  years  afterwards,  with  the  magnifi- 
cent national  hall  in  which  they  hung ; but  the  spirit  of 
them  is  not  passed  away.  Even  now,  Venice,  Bellini’s 
beloved  motherland,  is  rising,  new-born,  from  long  weary 
years  of  Austrian  slavery,  and  trying  to  be  free  and  great 
once  more ; and  young  Italian  hearts  are  lighting  up  with 
the  thoughts  of  her  old  fleets  and  her  old  victories,  her 
merchants  and  her  statesmen,  whom  John  Bellini  drew. 
Venice  sinned,  and  fell ; and  sorely  has  she  paid  for  her 
sins,  through  two  hundred  years  of  shame,  and  profligacy, 
and  slavery.  And  she  has  broken  the  oppressor’s  yoke, 
by  a strange  and  unexpected  chance.  The  fall  of  Louis 
Philippe  has  proved  the  salvation  of  Venice ; God  send 
her  a new  life  ! May  she  learn  by  her  ancient  sins ! 
May  she  learn  by  her  ancient  glories ! 

“ You  will  forgive  me  for  forgetting  my  picture  to  talk 
of  such  things?  But  we  must  return.  Look  back  at 
what  I said  about  the  old  portrait  — the  clear,  calm,  vic- 
torious character  of  the  old  man’s  face,  and  see  how  all 
the  rest  of  the  picture  agrees  with  it,  in  a complete  har- 
mony, as  all  things  in  a first-rate  picture  should.  The 
dress,  the  scenery,  the  light  and  shade,  the  general  ‘ tone  9 
of  color  should  all  agree  with  the  character  of  the  face 
— all  help  to  bring  our  minds  into  that  state  in  which  we 
may  best  feel  and  sympathize  with  the  human  beings 
painted.  Now  here,  because  the  face  is  calm  and  grand, 
the  color  and  the  outlines  are  quiet  and  grand  likewise. 
How  different  these  colors  are  from  that  glorious  ‘ Holy 
Family p of  Francia’s,  next  to  it  on  the  right ; or  from 
that  equally  glorious  ‘ Bacchus  and  Ariadne  9 of  Titian’s, 
on  the  left ! Yet  all  three  are  right,  each  for  its  own 
subject.  Here  you  have  no  brilliant  reds,  no  rich  warm 
browns;  no  luscious  greens.  The  white  robe  and  cap 
vol.  1.  — 10 


1 46  Charles  Kingsley 

give  us  the  thought  of  purity  and  simplicity;  the  very 
golden  embroidery  on  them,  which  marks  his  rank,  is 
carefully  kept  back  from  being  too  gaudy.  Everything  is 
sober  here ; and  the  lines  of  the  dress,  how  simple  they 
all  are  — no  rich  curves,  no  fluttering  drapery.  They 
would  be  quite  stiff  if  it  were  not  for  that  waving  line  of 
round  tassels  in  front,  which  break  the  extreme  straight- 
ness and  heaviness  of  the  splendid  robe ; and  all  pointing 
upwards  towards  that  solemn,  thin,  calm  face,  with  its  high 
white  cap,  rising  like  the  peak  of  a snow-mountain  against 
the  dark,  deep,  boundless  blue  sky  beyond.  That  is  a grand 
thought  of  Bellini’s  ! You  do  not  see  the  man’s  hands ; 
he  does  not  want  them  now,  his  work  is  done.  You  see 
no  landscape  behind  — no  buildings.  All  earth’s  ways  and 
sights  are  nothing  to  him  now ; there  is  nothing  but  the  old 
man  and  the  sky  — nothing  between  him  and  the  heaven 
now,  and  he  knows  it  and  is  glad.  A few  months  more, 
and  those  way-worn  features  shall  have  crumbled  to  their 
dust,  and  that  strong,  meek  spirit  shall  be  in  the  abyss  of 
eternity,  before  the  God  from  whence  it  came. 

“ So  says  John  Bellini,  with  art  more  cunning  than 
words.  And  if  this  paper  shall  make  one  of  you  look  at 
that  little  picture  with  fresh  interest,  and  raise  one  strong 
and  solemn  longing  in  you  to  die  the  death  of  the  right- 
eous, and  let  your  last  end  be  like  his  who  is  painted 
there  — then  I shall  rejoice  in  the  only  payment  I expect, 
or  desire  to  get,  for  this  my  afternoon’s  writing. 

“ Parson  Lot.” 

The  third  article  was  on  the  British  Museum, 
and  seems  like  an  unconscious  prophecy.1  When 
he  wrote  it  many  schemes  were  afloat  in  his  own 
mind,  which  he  lived  to  see  carried  out  in  the 

1 Mr.  Kingsley,  in  common  with  Thomas  Hughes,  and  many 
others,  later  worked  strenuously  to  have  the  British  Museum,  the 
National  Gallery  and  the  South  Kensington  Museum  in  London 
opened  to  the  public  on  Sunday  afternoons ; but  the  opposition 


Parson  Lot 


J47 

great  exhibitions  of  1851  and  i860,  in  the  various 
local  industrial  exhibitions  at  Manchester  and  else- 
where, and  in  the  throwing  open  of  our  cathedrals 
to  the  public.  But  he  was  before  his  age  in  these 
as  in  many  other  matters. 

“My  friend,  Will  Willow-Wren,  is  bringing  before  our 
readers  the  beauty  and  meaning  of  the  living  natural 
world  — the  great  Green-book  which  holds  ‘the  open 
secret/  as  Goethe  calls  it,  seen  by  all,  but  read  by,  alas  ! 
how  few.  And  I feel  as  much  as  he,  that  nature  is  infin- 
itely more  wonderful  than  the  highest  art ; and  in  the 
commonest  hedgeside  leaf  lies  a mystery  and  beauty 
greater  than  that  of  the  greatest  picture,  the  noblest  statue 
— as  infinitely  greater  as  God’s  work  is  infinitely  greater 
than  man’s.  But  to  those  who  have  no  leisure  to  study 
nature  in  the  green  fields  (and  there  are  now-a-days  too 
many  such,  though  the  time  may  come  when  all  will 
have  that  blessing),  to  such  I say,  go  to  the  British 
Museum ; there  at  least,  if  you  cannot  go  to  nature’s 
wonders,  some  of  nature’s  wonders  are  brought  to  you. 
The  British  Museum  is  my  glory  and  joy ; because  it  is 
almost  the  only  place  which  is  free  to  English  citizens  as 
such  — where  the  poor  and  the  rich  may  meet  together, 
and  before  those  works  of  God’s  spirit,  ‘who  is  no 
respecter  of  persons,’  feel  that  ‘the  Lord  is  the  maker  of 
them  all.’  In  the  British  Museum  and  the  National 
Gallery  alone  the  Englishman  may  say,  ‘ Whatever  my 
coat  or  my  purse,  I am  an  Englishman,  and  therefore  I 
have  a right  here.  I can  glory  in  these  noble  halls,  as  if 
they  were  my  own  house.  . . .’  ” 

After  an  appeal  to  deans  and  chapters  and  to 
rich  collectors,  he  goes  on : 

was  so  strong  in  certain  quarters  that  their  hopes  were  not 
realized  till  1896,  when  the  South  Kensington  was  opened, 
followed  by  the  National  Gallery  and  British  Museum. 


(M.  K.) 


/ 


148  Charles  Kingsley 

“ What  a noble,  and  righteous,  and  truly  brotherly  plan 
it  would  be,  if  all  classes  would  join  to  form  a free 
National  Gallery  of  Art  and  Science,  which  might  com- 
bine the  advantages  of  the  present  Polytechnic,  Society 
of  Arts,  and  British  Institution,  gratis.  Manufacturers 
and  men  of  science  might  send  thither  specimens  of  their 
new  inventions.  The  rich  might  send,  for  a few  months 
in  the  year,  ancient  and  modern  pictures,  and  not  only 
pictures,  but  all  sorts  of  curious  works  of  art  and  nature, 
which  are  now  hidden  in  their  drawing-rooms  and  libra- 
ries. There  might  be  free  liberty  to  copy  any  object,  on 
the  copyist’s  name  and  residence  being  registered.  And 
surely  artists  and  men  of  science  might  be  found,  with 
enough  of  the  spirit  of  patriotism  and  love,  to  explain 
gratuitously  to  all  comers,  whatever  their  rank  or  class, 
the  wonders  of  the  Museum.  I really  believe  that  if  once 
the  spirit  of  brotherhood  got  abroad  among  us ; if  men 
once  saw  that  here  was  a vast  means  of  educating,  and 
softening  and  uniting  those  who  have  no  leisure  for  study, 
and  few  means  of  enjoyment,  except  the  gin-shop  and 
Cremorne  Gardens ; if  they  could  but  once  feel  that  here 
was  a project,  equally  blessed  for  rich  and  poor,  the 
money  for  it  would  be  at  once  forthcoming  from  many  a 
rich  man,  who  is  longing  to  do  good,  if  he  could  only  be 
shown  the  way ; and  from  many  a poor  journeyman,  who 
would  gladly  contribute  his  mite  to  a truly  national 
museum,  founded  on  the  principles  of  spiritual  liberty, 
equality,  and  fraternity.  All  that  is  wanted  is  the  spirit 
of  self-sacrifice,  patriotism,  and  brotherly  love  — which 
God  alone  can  give  — which  I believe  He  is  giving  more 
and  more  in  these  very  days. 

“ I never  felt  this  more  strongly  than  some  six  months 
ago,  as  I was  looking  in  at  the  windows  of  a splendid 
curiosity  shop  in  Oxford  Street,  at  a case  of  humming- 
birds. I was  gloating  over  the  beauty  of  those  feathered- 
jewels,  and  then  wondering  what  was  the  meaning,  what 
was  the  use  of  it  all  ? — why  those  exquisite  little  creatures 


Parson  Lot 


149 

should  have  been  hidden  for  ages,  in  all  their  splendors 
of  ruby  and  emerald  and  gold,  in  the  South  American 
forests,  breeding  and  fluttering  and  dying,  that  some  dozen 
out  of  all  those  millions  might  be  brought  over  here  to 
astonish  the  eyes  of  men.  And  as  I asked  myself,  why 
were  all  these  boundless  varieties,  these  treasures  of  un- 
seen beauty,  created?  my  brain  grew  dizzy  between 
pleasure  and  thought ; and,  as  always  happens  when  one 
is  most  innocently  delighted,  ‘ I turned  to  share  the  joy/ 
as  Wordsworth  says ; and  next  to  me  stood  a huge, 
brawny  coal-heaver,  in  his  shovel  hat,  and  white  stockings 
and  high-lows,  gazing  at  the  humming-birds  as  earnestly 
as  myself.  As  I turned  he  turned,  and  I saw  a bright 
manly  face,  with  a broad,  soot-grimed  forehead,  from 
under  which  a pair  of  keen  flashing  eyes  gleamed  won- 
dering, smiling  sympathy  into  mine.  In  that  moment  we 
felt  ourselves  friends.  If  we  had  been  Frenchmen,  we 
should,  I suppose,  have  rushed  into  each  other’s  arms 
and  ‘ fraternized  ’ upon  the  spot.  As  we  were  a pair  of 
dumb,  awkward  Englishmen,  we  only  gazed  a half-minute, 
staring  into  each  other’s  eyes,  with  a delightful  feeling  of 
understanding  each  other,  and  then  burst  out  both  at 
once  with  — ‘ Is  n’t  that  beautiful  ? 9 ‘ Well,  that  is  ! ’ 

And  then  both  turned  back  again,  to  stare  at  our 
humming-birds. 

“ I never  felt  more  thoroughly  than  at  that  minute 
(though,  thank  God,  I had  often  felt  it  before)  that  all 
men  were  brothers ; that  fraternity  and  equality  were  not 
mere  political  doctrines,  but  blessed  God-ordained  facts ; 
that  the  party- walls  of  rank  and  fashion  and  money  were 
but  a paper  prison  of  our  own  making,  which  we  might 
break  through  any  moment  by  a single  hearty  and  kindly 
feeling;  that  the  one  spirit  of  God  was  given  without 
respect  of  persons  ; that  the  beautiful  things  were  beautiful 
alike  to  the  coal-heaver  and  the  parson ; and  that  before 
the  wondrous  works  of  God  and  of  God’s  inspired  genius, 
the  rich  and  the  poor  might  meet  together,  and  feel  that 


150  Charles  Kingsley 

whatever  the  coat  or  the  creed  may  be,  c A man  fs  a man 
for  a’  that/  and  one  Lord  the  maker  of  them  all. 

“ For  believe  me,  my  friends,  rich  and  poor  — and  I 
beseech  you  to  think  deeply  over  this  great  truth  — that 
men  will  never  be  joined  in  true  brotherhood  by  mere 
plans  to  give  them  a self-interest  in  common,  as  the 
Socialists  have  tried  to  do.  No  : to  feel  for  each  other, 
they  must  first  feel  with  each  other.  To  have  their 
sympathies  in  common,  they  must  have  not  one  object  of 
gain,  but  an  object  of  admiration  in  common ; to  know 
that  they  are  brothers,  they  must  feel  that  they  have  one 
Father ; and  a way  to  feel  that  they  have  one  common 
Father,  is  to  see  each  other  wondering,  side  by  side,  at 
his  glorious  works  ! 

“ Parson  Lot.  ” 

He  had  a sore  battle  to  fight  at  this  time  with 
his  own  heart,  and  with  those  friends  and  relations, 
religious  and  worldly,  who  each  and  all  from  their 
own  particular  standpoint  deprecated  the  line  he 
took,  and  urged  him  to  withdraw  from  this  sym- 
pathy with  the  people,  which  must  necessarily, 
they  thought,  injure  his  prospects  in  life.  “ But," 
he  writes  to  his  wife : 

. . I will  not  be  a liar.  I will  speak  in  season 
and  out  of  season.  I will  not  shun  to  declare  the  whole 
counsel  of  God.  I will  not  take  counsel  with  flesh  and 
blood,  and  flatter  myself  into  the  dream  that  while  every 
man  on  earth,  from  Maurice  back  to  Abel,  who  ever  tried 
to  testify  against  the  world,  has  been  laughed  at,  mis- 
understood, slandered,  and  that,  bitterest  of  all,  by  the 
very  people  he  loved  best,  and  understood  best,  I alone 
am  to  escape.  My  path  is  clear,  and  I will  follow  in  it. 
He  who  died  for  me,  and  who  gave  me  you,  shall  I not 
trust  Him  through  whatsoever  new  and  strange  paths  he 
may  lead  me  ? . . 


At  Queen’s  College  151 

“ Many  thanks  for  your  kind  letter/'  he  writes  to  Mr. 
Ludlow,  who  had  announced  to  him  his  rejection  at 
King's  College,  “ which  gave  me  the  first  intimation  of 
my  defeat.  ...  All  I hope  is,”  he  adds,  “ that  we 
shall  be  bold  — 4 draw  the  sword,  and  throw  away  the 
scabbard.'  I think  I have  counted  the  cost,  and  I have 
more  to  lose  in  many  ways  than  any  one  of  us  almost. 
And  therefore,  lest  I should  turn  coward,  I want  to  put 
myself  whence  there  will  be  no  retreat.  That  myth  of 
old  Von  Trong  Hagen,  dashing  the  boat  in  pieces  by 
which  the  Nibelungen  crossed  the  Danube,  is  great  and 
true.  Let  the  unreturning  ferry-boat  perish.  Let  us  for- 
ward. God  leads  us,  though  blind.  Shall  we  be  afraid 
to  follow  ? I do  not  see  my  way ; I do  not  care  to  ; but 
I know  that  He  sees  His  way,  and  that  I see  Him,  and  I 
cannot  believe  that  in  spite  of  all  one’s  sins  He  will  for- 
get His  gracious  promises.  4 They  had  an  eye  unto  Him 
and  were  lightened;  they  that  put  their  trust  in  Him 
shall  not  be  ashamed.'  No,  Ludlow,  — out,  out  on  the 
wide  weltering  ocean  of  thought.  Let  us  be  sure  that 
He  will  never  leave  us  nor  forsake  us,  however  sorely 
battered,  however  cowardly  we  may  long  to  turn,  till  we 
have  showed  His  strength  unto  this  generation,  and  His 
power  to  all  those  who  are  yet  for  to  come.  What  if  we 
are  — no  better  than  I am  ! His  strength  shall  be  made 
perfect  in  our  weakness,  and  He  will  have  all  the  glory  to 
Himself — as  He  ought.  I will  bring  you  up  a Game-law 
ballad  or  two,  and  will  work  the  end  of  the  week  at  a 
National  Gallery  Article,  and  a Letter  to  the  Chartists. 
At  present  I am  grinding  for  Queen’s  College.  Pray,  let 
us  try  and  see  what  sort  of  a definite  tone  we  can  influence 
people  towards  taking  at  our  meetings.  We  must  be 
more  definite  and  practical ; we  must  let  the  people  see 
more  what  we  do  hold.  We  must  thus  gain  their  sym- 
pathy, before  we  begin  scolding.  ...” 

To  the  same,  July,  1848.  — u I should  have  answered 
yesterday  your  noble  and  kind  letter,  had  not  my  after- 


152 


Charles  Kingsley 


noon  been  employed  in  forcing  a cruel,  lazy  farmer  to 
shoot  a miserable  horse  which  was  rotting  alive  in  front  of 
my  house,  and  superintending  its  death  by  aid  of  one  of 
my  own  bullets.  What  an  awful  wonderful  thing  a violent 
death  is,  even  in  a dumb  beast ! I would  not  have  lost  the 
sight  for  a great  deal.  But  now  to  business.  You  take  a 
strange  way  to  frighten  a man  off  from  novel-writing,  by 
telling  him  that  he  may  become  the  greatest  novelist  of 
the  age.  If  your  good  opinion  of  me  was  true,  I should 
have  less  fear  for  myself,  for  a man  could  not  become 
that  in  this  wonderful  era,  without  having  ideas  and  long- 
ings which  would  force  him  to  become  something  far 
better  than  a novelist ; but  for  myself,  chaotic,  piecemeal, 
passionate,  ‘ lachemar  ’ as  I am,  I have  fears  as  great  as 
your  own.  I know  the  miserable,  peevish,  lazy,  con- 
ceited, faithless,  prayerless  wretch  I am,  but  I know  this, 
too,  that  One  is  guiding  me,  and  driving  me  when  I will 
not  be  guided,  who  will  make  me,  and  has  made  me,  go 
His  way  and  do  His  work,  by  fair  means  or  by  foul.  He 
set  me  on  writing  this  ‘ novel.’  He  has  taught  me  things 
about  the  heart  of  fast  sporting  men,  and  about  the  con- 
dition of  the  poor,  and  our  duty  to  them,  which  I have  no 
doubt  He  has  taught  many  more,  but  He  has  not  set  any 
one  else  to  speak  about  them  in  the  way  in  which  I am 
speaking.  He  has  given  me  a certain  artistic  knack  of 
utterance  (nothing  but  a knack),  but  He  has  done  more. 
He  has  made  the  ‘ Word  of  the  Lord  like  fire  within  my 
bones/  giving  me  no  peace  till  I have  spoken  out.  I 
know  I may  seem  presumptuous  — to  myself  most  of  all, 
because  I know  best  the  ‘ liar  to  my  own  idea  ’ which  I 
am.  I know  that  He  has  made  me  a parish  priest,  and 
that  that  is  the  duty  which  lies  nearest  me,  and  that  I 
may  seem  to  be  leaving  my  calling  in  novel-writing.  But 
has  He  not  taught  me  all  these  very  things  by  my  parish- 
priest  life  ? Did  He,  too,  let  me  become  a strong,  daring, 
sporting  wild  man-of-the-woodsfor  nothing?  Surely  the  edu- 
cation which  He  has  given  me,  so  different  from  that  which 


At  Queen’s  College  153 

authors  generally  receive,  points  out  to  me  a peculiar 
calling  to  preach  on  these  points,  from  my  own  experience, 
as  it  did  to  good  old  Izaak  Walton,  as  it  has  done  in  our 
day  to  that  truly  noble  man,  Captain  Marryat.  Therefore 
I must  believe  4 Se  tu  segid  la  tua  stella  ’ with  Dante,  that 
He  who  ordained  my  star  will  not  lead  me  into  tempta- 
tion, but  through  it,  as  Maurice  says.  Without  Him  all 
places  and  methods  of  life  are  equally  dangerous  — with 
Him,  all  equally  safe.  Pray  for  me,  for  in  myself  I am 
weaker  of  purpose  than  a lost  greyhound,  lazier  than  a 
dog  in  rainy  weather. 

But  I feel  intensely  the  weight  of  your  advice  to  write 
no  more  novels.  Why  should  I ? I have  no  more  to 
say.  When  this  is  done  I must  set  to  and  read.  The 
symbolism  of  nature  and  the  meaning  of  history  must  be 
my  studies.  Believe  me  I long  for  that  day  — The  pangs 
of  intellectual  labor,  the  burden  of  spiritual  pregnancy, 
are  not  pleasant  things.  A man  cannot  write  in  the  fear 
of  God  without  running  against  the  devil  at  every  step. 
He  cannot  sit  down  to  speak  the  truth  without  disturbing 
in  his  own  soul  a hornet  swarm  of  lies.  Your  hack-writer 
of  no  creed,  your  bigot  Polyphemus,  whose  one  eye  just 
helps  him  to  see  to  eat  men,  they  do  not  understand 
this  ; their  pens  run  on  joyful  and  light  of  heart.  But  no 
more  talk  about  myself.  Will  you  tell  Parker  that  I am 
quite  willing  to  have  my  name  and  anything  else  he 
chooses  appended  to  the  reprint  of  the  Politics.  If  it 
will  free  his  worthy  father  in  pocket  or  reputation,  it  must 
be  done. 

“ Many,  many  thanks  for  charming  letters ; especially 
one  about  the  river  at  night  — that  I have  seen.  As  a 
companion,  just  see  the  Hungerford  Suspension  Bridge 
in  a fog;  standing  on  the  steam-boat  pier,  the  further 
shore  invisible,  with  two  vast  lines,  the  catenary  and  its 
tangent  line,  stretching  away  as  if  self-supported,  into  in- 
finite space ; a sort  of  Jacob’s  Ladder,  one  end  on  earth 


154  Charles  Kingsley 

and  one  in  heaven.  It  makes  one  feel  very  small : so  for 
that  matter,  do  the  lines  of  rail  in  looking  along  a vast 
sweep  of  railway.  There  is  an  awful  waiting  look  about 
them  : a silent  forbidden  desert  to  all  the  world,  except 
the  one  moment  when  their  demon  bridegrooms  shall 
rush  roaring  over  them  on  the  path  which  none  but  they 
must  go.  Does  this  seem  real  ? It  is  because  the 
thought  is  so  unspeakable.  I wonder  whether,  in  the 
future  ages,  men  will  ever  fall  down  and  worship  steam- 
engines,  as  the  Caribs  did  Columbus’s  ships.  Why  not  ? 
Men  have  worshipped  stone  men  and  women ; why  not 
line  iron  ? Fancy  it ! 

In  the  summer  he  made  an  expedition  with  Mr. 
Maurice  to  Croyland  Abbey,  near  Peterborough, 
which  gave  him  many  inspirations  for  his  story  of 
“ Hereward.”  “ We  spent  there  a priceless  day,” 
he  says;  “ these  days  with  Maurice  have  taught 
me  more  than  I can  tell.  Like  all  great  things, 
he  grows  upon  one  more  and  more.”  He  wrote 
several  letters  to  his  little  daughter  at  this  time, 
full  of  poetry  and  natural  history. 

“My  Darling  Miss  Rose, 

“Your  Daddy  is  going  to  write  you  a very  long  letter, 
and  you  must  ask  your  darling  Mam  to  read  it  to  you.  I 
will  tell  you  what  I have  seen  since  I have  been  away. 
Mr.  Maurice  and  Daddy  went  to  Cambridge,  and  saw  all 
the  beautiful  churches,  and  Daddy  was  so  happy,  and 
thanked  God  so  for  giving  him  a darling  Miss  Rose  and 
Maurice  and  their  blessed  mother,  and  then  we  went  in  a 
boat  down  the  river  to  Ely,  and  the  water  was  all  full  of 
little  fishes,  that  swam  up  and  down  under  the  boat ; and 
Daddy  went  to  Batesbite  Loch  into  a house,  and  there 
were  such  beautiful  butterflies,  that  people  catch  in  the 
Fens.  And  then  we  went  sailing  down  — sailing  down 
for  twenty  miles  — down  the  most  beautiful  deep  river 


Croyland  Abbey  155 

till  we  came  to  Ely.  And  there  was  a church,  such  a 
beautiful  church,  on  the  top  of  a hill,  with  so  many 
towers  and  steeples,  and  Mr.  Maurice  and  Daddy  went 
to  it,  and  heard  all  the  people  say  their  prayers,  and  they 
prayed  to  God  for  Daddy  and  Mam,  and  Miss  Rose,  and 
little  brother,  and  all  the  people  that  are  good,  and  Daddy 
was  so  happy ; and  then  we  went  to  Peterborough,  where 
Daddy  used  to  go  when  he  was  a little  boy,  and  there 
was  a very  big  tortoise  there,  and  Daddy  used  to  go  and 
see  it  eat  strawberries.  And  at  Peterborough,  Daddy  and 
Mr.  Maurice  went  to  the  Cathedral  to  hear  the  little  boys 
sing,  and  Daddy  was  so  happy,  and  they  prayed  for  Miss 
Rose  and  Maurice  and  their  dear  mother.  And  then 
Daddy  took  a dog-cart  and  drove  Mr.  Maurice  to  Croy- 
land, and  there  was  such  a beautiful  church,  all  tumbled 
down.  And  Daddy  and  Mr.  Maurice  went  up  to  the 
top  of  the  tower,  and  all  underneath  them  there  was  quite 
flat  fen,  so  very  flat  and  smooth,  and  beautiful  fields  of 
wheat  and  beans,  and  oats  and  rape-seed,  and  such  great 
ditches,  quite  straight  and  flat,  and  great  high  banks,  with 
the  roads  on  the  top  of  the  banks,  for  fear  the  water 
should  come  and  drown  people.  And  Daddy  and  Mr. 
Maurice  stood  on  the  top  of  the  great  high  tower,  and 
Daddy  said,  ‘ When  will  the  good  people  come  and  build 
up  this  beautiful  church  that  is  tumbled  down?’  — and 
then  Daddy  cried.  And  Mr.  Maurice  said,  ‘ Wait  a little, 
and  the  good  God  will  come  down  out  of  heaven,  and 
send  all  the  good  people  back  again,  and  then  the  beauti- 
ful church  will  be  built  up  again,  and  everybody  will  be 
so  good,  and  nobody  will  be  sick  any  more.  . . . And, 
Mr.  Maurice  said,  4 if  you  will  be  very  good,  and  not  be 
cross,  or  get  into  passions,  you  will  see  all  the  good 
people  come  out  of  the  sky  — and  then  everybody  will 
be  so  happy/  And  Daddy  was  very  glad  to  hear  what 
Mr.  Maurice  said. 

“ Now,  I have  got  a very  bad  pen,  like  a stick,  and  I 
cannot  write  any  more.  And  I will  write  you  a long 


156  Charles  Kingsley 

letter  to-morrow  and  tell  you  what  a beautiful  place  I am 
in,  and  all  about  the  stork,  and  the  owls,  and  the  beauti- 
ful birds  and  butterflies  that  are  in  Daddy’s  room.  . . . 

“ Your  dear  Daddy.” 

Duxford.  — “I  am  writing  in  such  a curious  place. 
A mill  where  they  grind  corn  and  bones,  and  such  a 
funny  little  room  in  it  full  of  stuffed  birds.  And  there  is 
a flamingo,  such  a funny  red  bird,  with  long  legs  and  a 
long  neck,  as  big  as  Miss  Rose,  and  sharks’  jaws,  and  an 
armadillo  all  over  great  scales,  and  now  I will  tell  you 
about  the  stork.  He  is  called  Peter,  and  here  is  a picture 
of  him.  See  what  long  legs  he  has,  and  a white  body 
and  black  wings,  and  he  catches  all  the  frogs  and  snails, 
and  eats  them,  and  when  he  is  cross,  he  opens  his  long 
bill,  and  makes  such  a horrible  clattering  like  a rattle. 
And  he  comes  to  the  window  at  tea  time,  to  eat  bread 
and  butter,  and  he  is  so  greedy,  and  he  gobbled  down  a 
great  pinch  of  snuff*  out  of  Daddy’s  box,  and  he  was  so 
sick,  and  we  all  laughed  at  him,  for  being  so  foolish  and 
greedy.  And  do  you  know  there  are  such  curious  frogs 
here  that  people  eat,  and  there  were  never  any  found  in 
England  before  Mr.  Thurnall  found  them,  and  he  sent 
them  to  the  British  Museum  and  the  wise  men  were  so 
pleased,  and  sent  him  leave  to  go  to  the  British  Museum 
and  see  all  the  wonderful  things  whenever  he  liked.  And 
he  has  got  such  beautiful  butterflies  in  boxes,  and  whole 
cupboards  full  of  birds’  eggs,  and  a river  full  of  beautiful 
fish,  and  Daddy  went  fishing  yesterday,  and  caught  an 
immense  trout,  very  nearly  four  pounds’  weight,  and  he 
raged  and  ran  about  in  the  river  so  long,  and  Daddy  was 
quite  tired  before  he  could  get  him  out.  And  to-day 
Daddy  is  going  back  to  Cambridge  to  get  a letter  from 
his  dear  home.  And  do  you  know  when  Mr.  Thurnall 
saw  me  drawing  the  stork,  he  gave  me  a real  live  stork  of  my 
own  to  bring  home  to  Miss  Rose,  and  we  will  put  him  in 
the  kitchen  garden  to  run  about  — what  fun  ! And  to- 


Letters  to  his  Child  157 

morrow  Daddy  is  going  to  see  the  beautiful  pictures  at 
the  Fitzwilliam  Museum,  and  the  next  day  he  is  going  to 
fish  at  Shelford,  and  the  next  day,  perhaps,  he  is  coming 
home  to  his  darlings  at  Eversley  Rectory,  for  he  does 
not  know  what  to  do  without  them.  . . . How  happy 
Miss  Rose  must  be  with  her  dear  mother.  She  must 
say,  ‘ thank  God  for  giving  me  such  a darling  mother  ! ’ 
Kiss  her  and  Maurice  for  me,  and  now  good-bye,  and  I 
will  bring  you  home  the  stork. 

“ Your  own  Daddy, 

“ Charles  Kingsley/' 

He  made  acquaintance  this  year  with  Mr. 
Thomas  Cooper,  the  Chartist  author,  to  whom 
he  writes : 

Eversley,  June  19,  1848.  — “Ever  since  I read  your 
brilliant  poem,  6 The  Purgatory  of  Suicides/  and  its  most 
affecting  preface,  I have  been  possessed  by  a desire  to 
thrust  myself,  at  all  risks,  into  your  acquaintance.  The 
risk  which  I felt  keenly,  was  the  fear  that  you  might  dis- 
trust me,  as  a clergyman ; having,  I am  afraid,  no  great 
reason  to  love  that  body  of  men.  Still,  I thought,  the 
poetic  spirit  ought  to  be  a bond  of  communion  between 
us.  Shall  God  make  us  brother  poets,  as  well  as  brother 
men,  and  we  refuse  to  fraternize?  I thought  also  that 
you,  if  you  have  a poet's  heart,  as  well  as  the  poet’s 
brain  which  you  have  manifested,  ought  to  be  more 
able  than  other  men  to  appreciate  and  sympathize  with 
my  feelings  towards  ‘ the  working  classes.’  You  can 
understand  why  I held  back  — from  shame  — a false 
shame,  perhaps,  lest  you  should  fancy  me  a hypocrite. 
But  my  mind  was  made  up,  when  I found  an  attack  in 
the  ‘ Commonwealth,'  on  certain  papers  which  I had 
published  in  the  4 Politics  of  the  People/  under  the 
name  of  Parson  Lot.  Now  I had  hailed  with  cordial 
pleasure  the  appearance  of  the  ‘ Commonwealth/  and 
sympathized  thoroughly  with  it  — and  here  was  this  very 


158  Charles  Kingsley 

‘ Commonwealth ’ attacking  me  on  some  of  the  very 
points  on  which  I most  agreed  with  it.  It  seemed  to 
me  intolerable  to  be  so  misunderstood.  It  had  been 
long  intolerable  to  me,  to  be  regarded  as  an  object  of 
distrust  and  aversion  by  thousands  of  my  countrymen, 
my  equals  in  privilege,  and  too  often,  alas  I far  my 
superiors  in  worth,  just  because  I was  a clergyman,  the 
very  office  which  ought  to  have  testified  above  all  others, 
for  liberty,  equality,  brotherhood,  for  time  and  eternity. 
I felt  myself  bound,  then,  to  write  to  you,  to  see  if 
among  the  nobler  spirits  of  the  working  classes  I could 
not  make  one  friend  who  would  understand  me.  My 
ancestors  fought  in  Cromwell’s  army,  and  left  all  for  the 
sake  of  God  and  liberty,  among  the  pilgrim  fathers ; and 
here  were  men  accusing  me  of  ‘mediaeval  tyranny/  I 
would  shed  the  last  drop  of  my  life  blood  for  the  social 
and  political  emancipation  of  the  people  of  England,  as 
God  is  my  witness ; and  here  are  the  very  men  for  whom 
I would  die,  fancying  me  an  6 aristocrat/  It  is  not 
enough  for  me  that  they  are  mistaken  in  me.  I want  to 
work  with  them.  I want  to  realize  my  brotherhood  with 
them.  I want  some  one  like  yourself,  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  the  mind  of  the  working  classes,  to  give 
me  such  an  insight  into  their  life  and  thoughts,  as  may 
enable  me  to  consecrate  my  powers  effectually  to  their 
service.  For  them  I have  lived  for  several  years.  I 
come  to  you  to  ask  you  if  you  can  tell  me  _how  to  live 
more  completely  for  them.  If  you  distrust  and  reject 
my  overtures,  I shall  not  be  astonished  — pained  I shall 
be  — and  you  must  know  as  well  as  I,  that  there  is  no 
bitterer  pain  than  to  be  called  a rogue  because  you  are 
honester  than  your  neighbors,  and  a time-server,  be- 
cause you  have  intellect  enough  to  see  both  sides  of  a 
question.  If  you  will  allow  me  to  call  on  you,  you  will 
very  much  oblige  me.  I send  you  my  poem  as  some- 
thing of  a 4 sample/  At  first  sight  it  may  seem  to  hanker 
after  feudalism  and  the  middle  age.  I trust  to  you  to 


Advice  to  an  Author  159 

see  a deeper  and  somewhat  more  democratic  moral 
in  it.  . . 

To  J.  C.,  Esq.,  1848.  — “ I have  delayed  answering  your 
letter  because  I did  not  wish  to  speak  in  a hurry  on  a sub- 
ject so  important  to  you.  I cannot  advise  you  to  publish 
the  poems  of  yours  which  I have  seen  — at  least  for  some 
years,  and  I will  give  you  my  reasons.  With  the  rjOos  of 
them  I thoroughly  agree ; it  is  in  the  ira 60s  I see  defects, 
which  will  not  suit  the  public  just  now.  The  time  for 
merely  reflective  poets  is  past : I do  not  mean  for  sub- 
jective poetry  — that  will  always  be  interesting,  but  only 
in  so  far  as  it  embodies  the  subjective  in  objective  forms 
— in  short,  in  so  far  as  it  is  dramatical  do  not  mean  in 
dialogues  and  scenes,  but  in  impersonation  and  repre- 
sentation. Byron,  Moore,  Shelley,  Keats,  Tennyson 
have  succeeded  in  subjective  poetry,  just  in  so  far  as  they 
have  embodied  spiritual  and  intellectual  truths  in  images 
and  examples  drawn  from  the  physical  and  pathetic  (I  use 
these  words  in  Aristotle’s  broad  sense)  phenomenon  of 
history,  man,  and  the  universe.  This  the  last  generation 
of  poets  have  done,  and  the  world  will  be  satisfied  with 
nothing  less  henceforward.  Indeed,  a man  is  a poet 
just  in  so  far  as  he  does  this  — as  he  sees  and  represents 
the  unseen  in  the  seen.  Now  here  you  fail.  You  have 
not  images  enough  (I  don’t  mean  tropes),  nor  are  those 
you  have  original  enough.  . . . First,  you  write  too  easily  ; 
that  same  imp  ‘ facility  ’ must  not  be  let  to  ruin  you,  as  it 
helped  to  ruin  Theodore  Hook.  You  must  never  put  two 
words  or  lines  where  one  will  do  ; the  age  is  too  busy  and 
hurried  to  stand  it.  Again,  you  want  to  see  a great  deal 
more,  and  study  more  — that  is  the  only  way  to  have 
materials.  Poets  cannot  create  till  they  have  learnt  to 
recombine.  The  study  of  man  and  nature ; the  study 
of  poets  and  fiction  writers  of  all  schools  is  necessary. 
And,  believe  me,  you  can  never  write  like  Byron,  or  any- 
body else  worth  hearing,  unless  by  reading  and  using 


160  Charles  Kingsley 

poetry  of  a very  different  school  from  his.  The  early 
dramatists,  Shakespeare  above  all ; and  not  less  the  two 
schools  which  made  Shakespeare ; the  Northern  ballad 
literature  ; nay  even,  I find,  the  Norse  myths.  And  on  the 
other  hand,  the  Romance  literature  must  be  known,  to 
acquire  that  objective  power  of  embodying  thoughts, 
without  which  poetry  degenerates  into  the  mere  intel- 
lectual reflective,  and  thence  into  the  metrical-prose 
didactic.  Read,  mark,  and  learn,  and  do  not  write.  I 
never  wrote  five  hundred  lines  in  my  life  before  the 
‘ Saint’s  Tragedy/  but  from  my  childhood  I had  worked 
at  poetry  from  Southey’s  4 Thalaba,’  Ariosto,  Spenser,  and 
the  ‘ Old  Ballads/  through  almost  every  school,  classic 
and  modern,  and  I have  not  read  half  enough.  I have 
been  studying  all  physical  sciences  which  deal  with 
phenomena  ; I have  been  watching  nature  in  every  mood  ; 
I have  been  poring  over  sculptures  and  paintings  since  I 
was  a little  boy  — and  all  I can  say  is,  I do  not  know  half 
enough  to  be  a poet  in  the  nineteenth  century,  and  have 
cut  the  Muse  pro  tempore . Again,  you  have  an  infinity 
to  learn  about  rhythm  and  metre,  and  about  the 
coloring  and  chiaroscuro  of  poetry;  how  to  break  up 
your  masses,  and  how  to  make  masses ; high  lights  and 
shadows  ; major  and  minor  keys  of  metre  ; rich  coloring 
alternating  with  delicate.  All  these  things  have  to  be 
learnt,  if  you  wish  to  avoid  monotony,  to  arrest  the 
interest,  to  gain  the  cardinal  secret  of  giving  ‘ continued 
surprise  in  expectation/  and  c expectation  in  surprise.’ 

“ Now  don’t  be  angry  with  me  ; because  I think  you  have 
a poetic  faculty,  therefore  I don’t  want  you  to  publish,  or 
even  write,  till  you  have  learnt  enough  really  to  enable  you 
to  embody  your  thoughts.  They  are  good  and  vigorous,  and 
profitable  for  this  age ; but  they  are  as  yet  too  bare-backed— 
you  must  go  clothes-hunting  for  the  poor  naked  babbies.” 

To , Esq. — “ The  extreme  importance  which  I 

attach  to  the  marriage  question,  and  my  great  dissatisfac- 


On  Marriage  161 

tion  with  my  lame  defence  of  the  truth  on  the  point, 
compels  me  to  inflict  a long  letter  on  you,  hoping  that  it 
may,  if  not  convince,  at  least  shake  you  in  your  present 
view  — perhaps,  by  God’s  blessing,  be  one  stepping-stone 
for  you  towards  that  higher  and  spiritual  view  of  marriage, 
the  path  to  which  is  very  often  earnest  doubt,  like  yours, 
of  that  vulgar  and  carnal  conception  of  it  which  is  com- 
mon, in  the  sense-bound  world. 

44  Man  is  a sexual  animal.  Sense  tells  us  this,  indepen- 
dent of  Scripture,  and  Scripture  confirms  it  — c male  and 
female  created  he  them  ’ ; and  again,  4 be  fruitful  and 
multiply  ’ were  said  of  man  in  Paradise.  The  notion 
that  marriage  was  not  instituted  till  after  the  Fall  is  a 
private  gloss,  flatly  contradicted  by  Gen.  i.  28,  and  Adam’s 
speech,  Gen.  ii.  24 ; and,  above  all,  the  use  of  the  word 
‘ wife  ’ before  the  Fall  proves  it.  I must  protest,  in  the 
name  of  all  criticism  and  logic,  against  supposing  that  the 
word  wife  has  an  utterly  different  meaning  in  the  first 
three  chapters  of  Genesis  to  what  it  has  in  the  rest  of  the 
Bible  and  in  the  whole  world  to  this  day,  especially  when 
those  three  chapters  describe  the  institution  of  wives. 
Admit  such  a mode  of  interpretation  and  Scripture  may 
be  made  (as  among  the  Romish  theologians)  to  mean 
anything  or  nothing,  at  the  reader’s  will.  . . . Man  is 
not  a mere  animal  — he  is  the  spirit-animal ; a spirit 
manifesting  itself  in  an  animal  form,  as  the  heathens 
themselves  hold.  Now  the  Law  of  the  universe  is,  that 
spirit  shall  rule  and  matter  obey,  and  this  law  has  two 
poles ; 1st,  That  spirit  shall  control,  and  matter  be 
controlled.  2nd,  That  spirit  shall  will,  and  matter 
express  that  will.  For  the  true  idea  of  rule  is,  where  the 
subject  is  not  merely  restrained  by  his  king,  but  fulfils  the 
will  of  his  king.  In  the  earlier  ages  of  Christianity  the 
first  pole  only  was  perceived ; the  gross  sensuality  of 
the  heathen  world  shut  everything  from  the  eyes  of  the 
fathers  but  the  fact  that  it  was  by  his  fleshly  lusts  that 
man  enacted  most  of  his  sins. 

VOL.  I.  — II 


1 62  Charles  Kingsley 

“ It  was,  I think,  a part  of  Christ’s  guidance  that  they 
did  see  nothing  else  ; that  their  whole  energies  were 
directed  to  preaching  the  great  message,  4 Ye  are  not 
beasts,  but  immortal  souls  — not  the  slaves  of  flesh  and 
matter,  but  the  lords  of  your  flesh,  servants  only  of 
God.’  Till  this  message  had  been  fully  believed,  no 
art  or  chivalry  was  allowed  to  arise  in  the  Church.  It 
was  better  that  man  should  think  marriage,  eating,  and 
drinking,  and  humanity  itself  unclean,  than  make  them 
unclean  by  a mere  animal  return  to  the  brutality  from 
which  they  had  been  raised.  Thus  Christ,  in  every  age 
of  the  Church,  for  the  sake  of  enabling  our  piecemeal 
and  partial  minds  to  bring  out  one  particular  truth,  seems 
to  permit  of  our  pushing  it  into  error,  by  not  binding  it 
with  its  correlative;  e.g .,  State  Authority  v.  Ecclesiastical 
Authority,  and  Free  Will  v.  Predestination. 

“ In  fulness  of  time  God  raised  up  Christian  art, 
chivalry,  and  woman  worship  as  witnesses  for  the  other 
pole,  *>.,  that  spirit  had  nobler  relations  to  flesh  and 
matter,  and  a nobler  duty  to  fulfil  with  regard  to  it.  As 
the  flesh  was  not  meant  merely  to  be  the  slave  of  the 
spirit,  it  was  meant  to  be  its  symbol  — its  outward 
expression.  In  this  day  only  can  we  reconcile  the 
contradiction  by  which  both  Scripture  and  common 
sense  talk  of  our  bodies  as  at  once  not  us,  and  yet  us. 
They  are  not  we,  but  our  earthly  tabernacles,  in  as  far  as 
they  are  aggregated  gas  and  salts,  &c.,  while  we  are  each 
of  us  one  and  eternal.  They  are  we,  in  as  far  as  they 
are  infallibly,  in  every  lineament  and  gesture,  the  expres- 
sions of  our  inward  and  spiritual  state.  ...  4 In  the 
beginning  God  created  them  male  and  female.’  This, 
when  taken  with  the  context,  can  only  be  explained  to 
mean  — a woman  for  each  man,  and  a man  for  each 
woman.  This  binary  law  of  man’s  being ; the  want  of  a 
complementum,  a 4 help  meet,’  without  whom  it  is  not 
good  for  him  to  be,  and  joined  to  whom  they  two  became 
one  being  of  a higher  organization  than  either  had  alone 


On  Marriage  163 

— this  binary  or  monogamic  law  has  been  gradually 
developing  itself  in  the  history  of  man  ; the  heathen,  when 
purest,  felt  that  his  ideal.  The  Bible  itself  sets  forth  its 
gradual  rise  from  intermarriage  with  sisters,  concubinage, 
polygamy,  up  to  our  Lord’s  assertion  of  the  original  ideal 
of  marriage,  the  one  husband  and  one  wife.  And  St. 
Paul,  without  forbidding  polygamy,  puts  monogamy  on 
such  a ground  that  the  whole  Church  has  instinctively  felt 
that  as  long  as  Ephesians  v.  stood  in  Scripture,  polygamy 
was  a base  and  fearful  fall  for  any  Christian  man.  This 
development  of  monogamy,  as  the  only  ideal  of  man,  is 
going  on  now ; one  may  see  it  in  the  increasing  dislike  to 
second  marriages,  for  the  very  opposite  reason  to  the  old 
Romish  dislike  to  them.  Lovers  of  high  and  pure  minds 
now  shrink  from  them,  because  marriage  is  so  spiritual 
and  timeless  — so  pure  and  mysterious  — an  Eternal 
union,  which  once  solemnized  with  the  loved  one  can  be 
transferred  to  no  other  — which  death  cannot  part. 
God  forbid,  however,  that  any  Church  should  break 
gospel  liberty  by  forbidding  second  marriages.  They 
are  no  more  sin  to  those  who  have  not  entered  into  the 
higher  idea  of  marriage,  than  polygamy  is  sinful  to  the 
heathen:  but  towards  strict  monogamy  lies  the  path  of 
man’s  education  in  this  age,  and  in  the  strict  monogamy 
to  more  divine,  more  Scriptural  views  of  marriage  than 
the  world  has  yet  seen.  . . . 

“ This  brings  me  to  your  objection,  that  if  this  were 
true  it  were  a sin  not  to  marry.  To  this  I answer,  that 
were  it  false,  it  were  a sin  to  marry,  in  all  who  knew 
celibacy  to  be  the  higher  state,  because  it  is  a sin  to 
choose  a lower  state,  without  having  first  striven  to  the 
'very  uttermost  for  the  higher.  And  it  is  a sin  to  disbe- 
lieve that  God’s  grace  will  be  vouchsafed  in  answer  to 
prayer  and  earnest  struggles  to  preserve  that  state,  as  I 
think  the  biographies  of  pious  monks  and  nuns  fully 
show.  They  by  a vow,  which  they  believed  binding,  had 
made  it  sinful  for  them  to  marry,  for  whatsoever  is  not 


164  Charles  Kingsley 

of  faith  is  sin ; they,  therefore,  prayed  for  grace  to  avoid 
that  which  in  them  would  have  been  sin,  and  they  ob- 
tained it.  Were  I a Romanist,  I should  look  on  a con- 
tinuance in  the  state  of  wedlock  as  a bitter  degradation 
to  myself  and  my  wife.  But  a better  answer  to  your 
objection  is,  that,  as  I said  before,  man  is  a spirit-animal, 
and  in  communion  with  God’s  spirit  has  a right  to  believe 
that  his  affections  are  under  that  spirit’s  guidance,  and 
that  when  he  finds  in  himself  such  an  affection  to  any 
single  woman  as  true  married  lovers  describe  theirs  to 
be,  he  is  bound  (duty  to  parents  and  country  allowing) 
to  give  himself  up  to  his  love  in  child-like  simplicity  and 
self-abandonment,  and,  at  the  same  time,  with  solemn 
awe  and  self-humiliation  at  being  thus  readmitted  into 
the  very  garden  of  the  Lord : 

‘The  Eden,  where  the  Spirit  and  the  flesh 
Are  one  again,  and  new-born  souls  walk  free, 

And  name  in  mystic  language  all  things  new, 

Naked  and  not  ashamed.’1 

. . . With  fear  and  trembling,  ‘ putting  his  shoes  from  off 
his  feet,’  for  the  place  whereon  he  stands  is  holy  ground, 
even  as  the  ineffable  symbol  of  the  highest  of  all  unions 
(Eph.  v.  25-29) — with  fear  and  trembling,  lest  he  for- 
get the  meaning  of  the  glorious  mystery.  . . . 

“Yet  if  a man  marries  without  love,  he  sins  not- — at 
least  God  shall  judge  him  and  not  I.  But  t for  the  hard- 
ness of  our  heart,’  only  I believe  is  a man  allowed  to 
marry  without  love ; and  ‘ such  shall  have  trouble  in 
the  flesh,’  says  St.  Paul.  For  remark  all  through 
1 Corinthians  vii.,  he  is  talking  of  marriage  on  its  low- 
est ground  . . . and  here  is  the  key  to  the  whole  chap- 
ter. Who  were  the  Corinthians?  The  city  of  harlots  — 
for  centuries  sunk  in  the  most  brutal  sensuality,  even  then 
getting  drunk  at  the  Lord’s  table.  This  is  ‘ the  present 
necessity  ’ — their  low  and  sensual  state  which  would 

1 “ Saint’s  Tragedy,”  Act  II.  Scene  ix. 


On  Marriage  165 

have  never  comprehended  the  magnificent  idea  of  mar- 
riage, which  he  unfolds  to  his  beloved  Ephesians,  the 
blameless  Church  to  whom  he  speaks  of  nothing  but  the 
deepest  and  most  glorious  truths.  True,  there  is  a bless- 
ing pronounced  on  him  who  gives  up  wife  for  Christ’s 
sake  and  the  Gospel’s.  . . . But  in  God’s  name  let  it  be 
for  Christ’s  sake  — not  for  his  own  sake,  that  he  may  do 
the  more  good,  not  merely  that  he  may  be  the  more  good. 
Is  a man  to  be  rewarded  because  for  the  sake  of  attaining 
(as  he  thinks  that  he  may  attain)  what  he  calls  ‘ a higher 
place  in  heaven,’  he  refuses  to  bring  immortal  beings, 
made  in  God’s  image  — heirs  of  Christ’s  redemption  into 
the  world,  and  to  obey  the  primeval  and  as  yet  unrepealed 
command  ? Oh  ! sir,  whoever  calls  this  devoutness,  I 
call  it  selfishness. 

“ But  if  a man,  on  the  other  hand,  — as  men  have  done, 
as  I must  believe  St.  Paul  did,  when  I read  Ephesians  v. 
and  1 Timothy  iii.  2 — says  to  himself,  “ I know  marriage 
is  the  highest,  because  the  most  symbolic  of  all  human 
states  ; but  it  is  not  for  me,  I have  a great  work  to  do  — 
a peculiar  vocation,  which  lies  in  a quite  opposite  direc- 
tion to  the  duties  of  citizen  and  husband,  and  must  bear 
that  cross.  God  has  refused  to  let  me  love  woman ; and 
even  hereafter,  if  I shall  love,  I must  turn  away  from  the 
fulfilment  of  that  love  in  Time , trusting  to  my  Heavenly 
Father  to  give  us  some  deeper  and  more  ineffable  union 
with  each  other  in  those  glories  unknown,  which  He  has 
prepared  for  those  who  love  Him  : at  all  events,  the  work 
which  He  has  for  me  must  be  done.  And,  as  a married 
man,  I cannot  do  my  work,  peculiar  as  it  is.’  I believe 
that  he  who  should  so  embrace  celibacy,  would  deserve 
all  names  of  honor  which  men  could  heap  on  him,  just 
because  the  sacrifice  is  so  great  — just  because  he  gives 
up  a present  and  manifest  honor  and  blessing  — his 
rights  as  man  made  in  God’s  image  — committing  him- 
self to  God  to  repay  him.  But  what  has  this  to  do  with 
mere  selfish  safety  and  easy  saving  of  one’s  own  soul  ? 


1 66  Charles  Kingsley 

“ The  highest  state  I define  as  that  state  through  and  in 
which  men  can  know  most  of  God,  and  work  most  for 
God  : and  this  I assert  to  be  the  marriage  state.  He  can 
know  most  of  God,  because  it  is  through  those  family  ties, 
and  by  those  family  names  that  God  reveals  Himself  to 
man,  and  reveals  man’s  relations  to  Him.  Fully  to  under- 
stand the  meaning  of  ‘ a Father  in  Heaven  ’ we  must  be 
fathers  ourselves ; to  know  how  Christ  loved  the  Church, 
we  must  have  wives  to  love,  and  love  them ; else  why  has 
God  used  those  relations  as  symbols  of  the  highest  myste- 
ries which  we  (on  the  Romish  theory)  are  the  more  saintly 
the  less  we  experience  of  them  ? And  it  is  a historic  fact, 
that  just  the  theologic  ideas  which  a celibate  priesthood 
have  been  unable  to  realize  in  their  teaching,  are  those  of 
the  Father  in  Heaven  — the  Husband  in  Heaven.  Their 
distortion  of  the  last  great  truth  requires  a letter  to  itself. 
I will  only  now  add  an  entreaty  that  you  will  forgive  me 
if  I have  seemed  too  dogmatic.  But  God  has  showed 
me  these  things  in  an  eventful  and  blissful  marriage  history, 
and  woe  to  me  if  I preach  them  not.” 

Some  words  of  his  written  in  1872,  in  which  he 
defines  a “ noble  fear”  as  one  of  the  elements  of 
that  lofty  and  spiritual  love  which  ruled  his  own 
daily  life,  may  explain  why  he  speaks  above  of 
entering  the  married  state  with  “ solemn  awe  and 
self-humiliation,”  and  why  he  looked  upon  such 
married  love  as  the  noblest  education  a man’s 
character  could  have : 

“ Can  there  be  true  love  without  wholesome  fear?  And 
does  not  the  old  Elizabethan  ‘ My  dear  dread 9 express 
the  noblest  voluntary  relation  in  which  two  human  souls 
can  stand  to  each  other?  Perfect  love  casteth  out  fear. 
Yes : but  where  is  love  perfect  among  imperfect  beings, 
save  a mother’s  for  her  child?  For  all  the  rest,  it  is 
through  fear  that  love  is  made  perfect ; fear  which  bridles 


Devonshire 


167 

and  guides  the  lover  with  awe  — even  though  misplaced  — 
of  the  beloved  one's  perfections ; with  dread  — never 
misplaced  — of  the  beloved  one's  contempt.  And  there- 
fore it  is  that  souls  who  have  the  germ  of  nobleness 
within,  are  drawn  to  souls  more  noble  than  themselves,  just 
because,  needing  guidance,  they  cling  to  one  before  whom 
they  dare  not  say,  or  do,  or  even  think  an  ignoble  thing. 
And  if  these  higher  souls  are  — as  they  usually  are  — 
not  merely  formidable,  but  tender  likewise,  and  true,  then 
the  influence  which  they  may  gain  is  unbounded  — both 
to  themselves,  and  to  those  that  worship  them.  ...” 

“ Yeast”  was  now  coming  out  monthly  in 
“Fraser’s  Magazine.”  It  was  written  with  his 
heart’s  blood.  No  book  ever  took  so  much  out  of 
him.  After  busy  days  in  the  parish  he  would  sit 
down  and  write  it  deep  into  the  night.  The 
state  of  the  laboring  classes  in  country  as  well 
as  town  absorbed  him.  Brain  and  nerves  were 
continually  on  the  stretch,  and  the  cry  of  his  soul 
was : 

“ How  long,  O Lord ! how  long  before  Thou  come  again ! 

Still  in  cellar,  and  in  garret,  and  on  moorland  dreary, 
The  orphans  moan,  and  widows  weep,  and  poor  men  toil 
in  vain.” 


One  Sunday  evening  after  his  two  services  had 
been  got  through  with  difficulty,  he  broke  down 
utterly,  and  his  medical  man,  alarmed  at  his 
weakness,  ordered  complete  change.  All  literary 
work,  except  an  occasional  review  for  “ Fraser  ” 
was  stopped;  but  as  during  a month’s  rest  at 
Bournemouth  he  gained  nothing,  he  had  to  pre- 
pare for  a longer  absence  in  Devonshire,  where  he 
spent  the  following  winter  and  spring. 


Charles  Kingsley 


1 68 


TO  HIS  WIFE 


Eversley:  October  27.  — . . Please  God  I shall 

be  back  to-morrow  (Bournemouth).  I am  quite  worn 
out  with  going  round  and  seeing  every  one  to-day.  I 
am  trying  to  recollect  and  collect  everything,  but  my 
brains  are  half  addled.  Kiss  the  darlings  for  me.  What 
would  life  be  without  you  ? What  is  it  with  you  but  a 
brief  pain  to  make  us  long  for  everlasting  bliss.  There 
we  shall  be  together  for  ever,  without  a sigh  or  a cross.  — 
But  how  long  first ! how  long!  . . . ” 


TO  J.  CONINGTON,  ESQ. 

Ilfracombe  : December  30.  — “ . . . I am  so  dissatis- 
fied with  ‘Yeast,5  that  I shall  lay  it  by  pro  tem.1  It  was 
finished,  or  rather  cut  short,  to  please  Fraser,  and  now  it 
may  lie  and  ferment  for  a few  years.  You  are  right  in 
your  surmise  that  the  finale  is  mythic  and  not  typic . 
You  will  see  why  (please  God,  for  I am  diffident  of 
myself,)  when  I finish  it.  But  in  the  meantime  I am 
hardly  up  to  much  work.  I have  Mrs.  Jamieson’s  book 
to  review,  which  will  be  hard  work  for  my  poor  addle 
brain,  which  feels,  after  an  hour’s  reading,  as  if  some  one 
had  stirred  it  with  a spoon.  I have,  however,  tinkered 
up  something  light  and  quaint  by  way  of  a review,  and 
shall  get  it  done  off  in  a day  or  two.  So  if  you  will  keep 
your  trumpet  for  ‘ Ambarvalia,’  I will  celebrate  the  birth 
of  Clough’s  ‘ Bothie  ’ with  penny  whistle  and  banjo.  . . . 
I am  mending  in  health,  from  the  joint  action  of  idleness, 
the  climate  of  Paradise,  and  glorious  cliff  scenery,  and 
hope  to  have  Maurice  staying  with  me  next  week.” 


1 “Yeast”  was  finally  published  in  book-form  in  1851.  (M.  K.) 


CHAPTER  VII 


1849 
Aged  30 

Winter  in  Devonshire  — Illness — Decides  on  taking 
Pupils  — Correspondence  — On  Romanism  — Visit  to 
London  — Social  Questions — Fever  at  Eversley  — 
Renewed  Illness  — Returns  to  Devonshire  — Cholera 
in  England  — Sanitary  Work  — Bermondsey  — Jacob’s 
Island  — Development  of  “ Yeast  ” — Influence  on 
Young  Men  — Recollections  by  Mr.  C.  Kegan  Paul. 

Passion,  or  “ sensation.”  I am  not  afraid  of  the  word,  still  less 
of  the  thing.  You  have  heard  many  cries  against  sensation 
lately;  but,  I can  tell  you,  it  is  not  less  sensation  we  want,  but 
more.  The  ennobling  difference  between  one  man  and  another  — 
between  one  animal  and  another  — is  precisely  in  this,  that  one 
feels  more  than  another.  If  we  were  sponges,  perhaps  sensation 
might  not  be  easily  got  for  us ; if  we  were  earth-worms,  liable  at 
every  instant  to  be  cut  in  two  by  the  spade,  perhaps  too  much 
sensation  might  not  be  good  for  us.  But  being  human  creatures, 
it  is  good  for  us ; nay,  we  are  only  human  in  so  far  as  we  are 
sensitive,  and  our  honor  is  precisely  in  proportion  to  our  passion. 

Ruskin,  “ Sesame  and  Lilies.” 

MR.  MAURICE  with  other  friends  came  to 
visit  him  at  Ilfracombe,  and  all  went 
away  depressed  at  seeing  the  utter  exhaustion, 
mental  and  bodily,  of  one  who  had  been  the  life 
and  soul  of  their  band  of  workers  in  1848. 

tl  Not  as  of  old,  like  Homeric  Achilles,  Kvbei  yatW, 

Joyous  knight  errant  of  God,  thirsting  for  labor  and  strife, 
No  more  on  magical  steed  borne  free  through  the  regions  of 
ether, 


170  Charles  Kingsley 

Fruit-bearing  autumn  is  gone  ; let  the  sad,  quiet  winter  hang 
o’er  me  — 

Blossoms  would  fret  me  with  beauty ; my  heart  has  no  time 
to  be-praise  them ; 

Gray  rock,  bough,  surge,  cloud,  waken  no  yearning  within. 

Sing  not,  thou  skylark  above  ! . . . 

Scream  on,  ye  sea  fowl ! my  heart  echoes  your  desolate  cry. 

Sweep  the  dry  sand  on,  thou  wild  wind,  to  drift  o’er  the 
shell  and  the  sea-weed; 

Sea-weed  and  shell,  like  my  dreams,  swept  down  the  pitiless 
tide.”  1 


For  months  he  could  do  nothing  but  wander  on 
the  seashore  with  his  wife  and  babies  collecting 
shells  and  zoophytes,  while  dreaming  over  “The 
Autobiography  of  a Cockney  Poet/’  which  in  the 
autumn  was  to  develop  into  “ Alton  Locke.” 
Of  this,  he  says  to  a friend : 

“ I have  some  hope,  as  it  has  revealed  itself  to  me  so 
rapidly  and  methodically,  that  I feel  it  comes  down  from 
above,  and  that  only  my  folly  can  spoil  it  — which  I pray 
against  daily.  . . . Tell  Charles  I have  found  to-day 
another  huge  comatula,  and  bottled  him  with  his  legs,  by 
great  dodging.  I am  always  finding  something  fresh.” 

Illness  had  obliged  him  to  resign  his  professor- 
ship at  Queen’s  College,  where,  besides  two  in- 
troductory lectures  on  literature  and  composition, 
he  had  given  a course  on  Early  English  Litera- 
ture. To  Mr.  Strettell  who  took  his  work  there, 
he  writes : 

“ I left  off  before  the  Conquest,  my  next  lecture  would 
have  been  on  Edward  the  Confessor  — the  difference 
between  a good  man  and  a good  king  — like  him  and 

1 Elegiacs.  Poems,  p.  275. 


Decides  on  Taking  Pupils  171 

Louis  XVI.  The  rotting  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  system. 
. . . Go  your  own  way ; what  do  girls  want  with  a 
‘ course  of  literature’?  Your  business  and  that  of  all 
teachers  is,  not  to  cram  them  with  things,  but  to  teach 
them  how  to  read  for  themselves.  A single  half  century 
known  thoroughly,  as  you  are  teaching,  will  give  them 
canons  and  inductive  habits  of  thought,  whereby  to  judge 
all  future  centuries.  We  want  to  train — not  cupboards 
full  of  < information  ’ (vile  misnomer),  but  real  informed 
women.  ...  I read  out  some  Caedmon  — no  ^Elfric  — I 
think  some  Beowulf — but  I should  counsel  you  to  let 
that  be  (as  I gave  them  the  Athelstan  Ballad,  and  some 
of  Alfred’s,  &c.),  and  just  do  what  I intended.  Give 
them  a lecture  on  the  rise  of  our  Norse  forefathers  — give 
them  something  from  the  Voluspa  and  Edda.  Show 
them  the  peculiar  wild,  mournful,  gigantic  objective 
imagination  of  the  men,  and  its  marriage  with  the  Saxon 
subjectivity  (as  I fancy)  to  produce  a ballad  school. 
Remember  two  things.  The  Norse  are  the  great  creators , 
all  through  — and  all  the  ballads  came  from  the  North  of 
England  and  Lowlands  of  Scotland,  i.e.  from  half  Norse 
blood.  . . 

The  expenses  of  illness  had  now  to  be  met,  and 
he  consulted  Mr.  Maurice  and  Mr.  A.  J.  Scott, 
Principal  of  Owens  College,  Manchester,  about 
taking  pupils. 

“ Will  you  excuse  another  word  about  pupils  ? ” he 
writes  to  Mr.  Scott.  . . . “I  am  not  going  to  talk  what 
I can  teach.  But  what  I should  try  to  teach,  would  be 
principally  physical  science,  history,  English  literature, 
and  modern  languages.  In  my  eyes  the  question  is  not 
what  to  teach,  but  how  to  educate ; how  to  train  not 
scholars,  but  men ; bold,  energetic,  methodic,  liberal- 
minded,  magnanimous.  If  I can  succeed  in  doing  that, 
I shall  do  what  no  salary  can  repay  — and  what  is  not 


172  Charles  Kingsley 

generally  done,  or  expected  to  be  done,  by  private 
tutors.  . . 

“That  is  what  is  wanted,”  Mr.  Scott  remarked, 
“and  it  is  what  Charles  Kingsley  will  do.”  Mr. 
Maurice  wrote  also  to  Professor  Thompson,  of 
Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  about  pupils  for  him. 

“ I do  not  know,”  he  says,  “ a man  more  fitted  for  the 
work  — scarcely  any  one  equally  fitted.  He  is  a good, 
accurate,  and  enthusiastic  scholar,  full  of  knowledge  of  all 
things  about  him,  and  delights  in  them,  and  more  likely 
to  give  a young  man  of  the  day  a good  direction  in 
divinity,  meeting  his  difficulties  and  dealing  honestly  with 
them,  than  any  person  I have  fallen  in  with.  His  conver- 
sation is  full  of  interest  even  when  he  is  ill ; when  he  is 
well  he  is  the  freshest,  freest  hearted  man  in  England. 
. . . His  home  is  altogether  most  pleasant.  . . 

But,  notwithstanding  the  efforts  of  his  friends, 
so  strong  a prejudice  had  been  created  against 
him  by  his  writings,  that  no  pupils  were  forth- 
coming till  the  following  year,  when  Mr.  Richard 
Martineau  ventured  to  place  his  son  with  him. 

His  leave  of  absence  was  now  extended;  grad- 
ually the  rest  told  upon  him,  and  he  cheerily 
writes  to  his  parents,  who  had  provided  for  his 
duty  at  Eversley : 

“ I now  am  better  than  I have  been  at  all,  I may  say. 
A tremendous  gale  of  wind  has  acted  on  me  exactly  like 
champagne  and  cathedral-organs  in  one,  and  restored  my 
(what  you  would  call  nervous)  what  I call  magnetic  tone.” 

Ilfracombe  : April  Fool's  Day , 1849. — “ Many  thanks 
for  all  your  great  kindness ; I should  be  now  like  Batsy 
Bannett,  ‘ the  mazed  woman  teu  Morte  that  picketh 
shalls,’  if  it  had  not  been  for  all  your  care  of  my  few  sheep 


Correspondence  173 

in  the  wilderness.  I am  quite  ashamed  of  amusing 
myself  here  while  you  are  toiling  for  me;  but  being  here, 
I will  not  do  things  by  halves,  and  am  leading  a truly 
hoggish  life — viz.  : 18  hours  sleeping,  4 hours  eating,  2 
hours  walking,  o hours  reading  — 24  ; which  you  will 
allow  is  a change  in  my  dietetics.  Mansfield  and  I go 
geologizing  and  shell-picking  ; but  ah  ! ! ! ‘ ther  baint  no 
shells  ! Where  be  they  gwan  ? ’ I went  to  Morte  yes- 
terday, and  found,  as  indeed  I do  of  all  this  country,  that 
my  old  childish  recollection  had  painted  it,  not  as  usual, 
larger  and  more  striking  than  the  actuality,  but  smaller. 
I find  that  I was  not,  as  a boy  of  ten,  capable  of  taking  in 
the  grandeur  of  the  scenery  here,  and  that  I had  brought 
away  only  as  much  of  it  as  I could  hold.  Every  hill 
(and  this  strikes  me  much),  except  perhaps  little  Cap- 
stone, is  much  higher  and  grander  than  I thought.  I feel 
the  change  from  North  Hants  very  much — the  world 
seems  turned  upside  down.  I get  a strange  swimming  in 
the  wits  now  and  then,  at  seeing  farm-houses  under  my 
feet,  and  cows  feeding  like  so  many  flies  against  a wall. 
It  is  the  strange  position  of  well-known  objects,  and  not 
the  height,  which  upsets  me.  I find  my  climbing  head 
surer  than  ever,  and  can  placidly  look  over  the  awful  gulf 
of  Hillsborough  as  if  it  were  a six-foot  wall.  We  have  had 
some  glorious  climbs  already,  which  have  put  new  life 
into  me.  In  fact,  were  I to  return  to  work  to-morrow, 
the  journey  would,  so  far,  have  cured  me  — the  very  sight 
of  the  hills  round  Barnstaple  was  enough.  What  a mys- 
terious curse-blessing  is  this  same  4 Heimweh/  this  intense 
love  of  one’s  own  country,  which  makes  it  seem  pleasanter 
to  lie  down  here  and  die,  than  to  live  anywhere  else  on 
earth.  It  is  a righteous  and  a God-given  feeling,  and  one 
which,  as  Carlyle  says,  distinguishes  man  from  the  ape  — 
that  local  attachment,  root  of  all  true  patriotism,  valor, 
civilization  — woe  to  those  who  fancy  it  fine  to  turn  cos- 
mopolite, and  by  becoming  4 citizens  of  the  world/  lose 
the  very  idea  of  citizenship  for  the  sake  of  doing  what  a 


174  Charles  Kingsley 

navigator’s  dog  or  a gipsy’s  donkey  can  do  a great  deal 
better.  Pray  tell  me  how  and  where  to  find  shellso  Morte 
and  even  Barricane  itself,  was  monopolized  by  countless 
millions  of  mactra  stultorum  — there  was  hardly  another 
shell.  Crewkerne  is  very  barren  ; at  Rillage  Point  the 
beach  is  quite  altered,  all  the  sands  gone0  And  ‘ where, 
oh  where,’  is  the  Venus  Maidenhair  gone?  I have  hunted 
every  wet  rock  and  £ shute  ’ from  Rillage  Point  to  the 
near  side  of  Hillsborough,  at  danger  of  my  neck,  and 
cannot  find  a scrap,  but  plenty  of  Asplenium  marinum, 
which  you  could  n’t  find.  Pray  inform  me  how  to  get 
shells  ; and  pray  don’t  say  that  6 Yeast  ’ is  written  by  me. 
I shall  be  able  to  do  better  with  it  by  remaining  incog.  I 
have  found  the  most  wonderful  beasts  on  the  rocks  you 
can  imagine.  Comatula  rosea,  bred  between  the  star-fish, 
a coralline,  and  an  encrinite,  animal,  vegetable,  and 
mineral,  which  start  as  stone-flowers,  and  then  break  off 
their  stalk,  and  go  about  with  legs  and  arms,  and  the  beauty 
in  shape  and  color  is  wonderful.  I enclose  a drawing.” 

The  spring  was  spent  at  Lynmouth,  and  while 
there  he  had  the  joy  of  introducing  his  wife’s 
sister  and  Mr.  Froude1^  his  beloved  Clovelly, 
from  whence  he  writes  home : 

“ Only  a few  lines,  for  the  post  starts  before  breakfast. 
We  got  here  all  safe.  ...  I cannot  believe  my  eyes : the 
same  place,  the  pavement,  the  same  dear  old  smells,  the 
dear  old  handsome  loving  faces  again.  It  is  as  if  I was  a 
little  boy  again,  or  the  place  had  stood  still  while  all  the 
world  had  been  rushing  and  rumbling  on  past  it ; and 
then  I suddenly  recollect  your  face,  and  those  two  ducks 
on  the  pier ; and  it  is  no  dream  ; this  is  the  dream,  and  I 
am  your  husband ; what  have  I not  to  thank  God  for ! 
I have  been  thanking  Him  ; but  where  can  I stop  ! We 
talk  of  sailing  home  again,  as  cheapest  and  pleasantest. 

1 This  sister  of  Mrs.  Kingsley's  was  Mr.  Froude’s  first  wife. 

(M.  K.) 


On  Romanism 


*75 

To-day  I lionize  C.  over  everything.  Kiss  the  children 
for  me.” 

The  following  letter  was  written  to  a young 
man  going  over  to  Rome.  Several  pages  have 
been  lost,  which  will  account  for  any  want  of 
sequence. 

Clifton:  May  n,  1849.  — “ I have  just  heard  from 
Charles  Mansfield,  to  my  inexpressible  grief,  that  you  are 
inclined  to  join  the  Roman  Communion ; and  at  the  risk 
of  being  called  impertinent,  I cannot  but  write  my  whole 
heart  to  you.  What  I say  may  be  7rapa  tov  \6yov,  after 
all ; if  so,  pray  write  and  let  me  know  what  your  real 
reasons  are  for  such  a step.  I think,  as  one  Christian 
man  writing  to  another,  I may  dare  to  entreat  this  of 
you.  For  believe  me  I am  no  bigot.  I shall  not  trouble 
you  with  denunciations  about  the  ‘ scarlet  woman  ’ or  the 
‘ little  horn.’  I cannot  but  regard  with  awe,  at  least,  if 
not  reverence,  a form  of  faith  which  God  thinks  good 
enough  still  for  one  half  (though  it  be  the  more  brutal, 
profligate,  and  helpless  half)  of  Europe.  Believe  me,  I 
can  sympathize  with  you.  I have  been  through  it ; I 
have  longed  for  Rome,  and  boldly  faced  the  consequences 
of  joining  Rome  ; and  though  I now  have,  thank  God, 
cast  all  wish  of  change  behind  me  years  ago,  as  a great 
lying  devil’s  temptation,  yet  I still  long  as  ardently  as 
ever  to  see  in  the  Church  of  England  much  which  only 
now  exists,  alas  ! in  the  Church  of  Rome.  Can  I not 
feel  for  you  ? Do  I not  long  for  a visible,  one,  organized 
Church  ? Do  I not  shudder  at  the  ghastly  dulness  of  our 
services  ? Do  I not  pray  that  I may  see  the  day  when 
the  art  and  poetry  of  the  nineteenth  century  shall  be 
again  among  us,  turned  to  their  only  true  destination  — 
the  worship  of  God?  Have  I shed  no  bitter,  bitter  tears 
of  shame  and  indignation  in  cathedral  aisles,  and  ruined 
abbeys,  and  groaned  aloud,  ‘ Ichabod,  Ichabod,  the  glory 
is  departed,’  etc.”  [Here  some  pages  are  lost.] 


176  Charles  Kingsley 

“ Can  you  not  commit  the  saving  of  your  soul  to  Him 
that  made  your  soul?  I think  it  will  be  in  good  keeping, 
unless  you  take  it  out  of  His  hands,  by  running  off  where 
He  has  not  put  you.  Did  you  never  read  how  ‘ He  that 
saveth  his  soul  shall  lose  it.’  Beware.  Had  you  been 
born  an  Italian  Romanist  I would  have  said  to  you, 
Don’t  leave  Rome  ; stay  where  you  are,  and  try  to  mend 
the  Church  of  your  fathers ; if  it  casts  you  out,  the  sin 
be  on  its  own  head  ; and  so  I say  to  you.  Do  you  want 
to  know  God’s  will  about  you?  What  plainer  signs  of 
it,  than  the  fact  that  He  has  made  you,  and  educated 
you  as  a Protestant  Englishman.  Here,  believe  it  — 
believe  the  providentiam,  ‘Dei  in  rebus  revelatam .’  — 
Here  He  intends  you  to  work,  and  do  the  duty  which 
lies  nearest.  Hold  what  doctrines  you  will,  but  do  not 
take  yourself  out  of  communion  with  your  countrymen, 
to  bind  yourself  to  a system  which  is  utterly  foreign  to 
us  and  our  thoughts,  and  only  by  casting  off  which  have 
we  risen  to  be  the  most  mighty,  and  (with  all  our  sins), 
perhaps  the  most  righteous  and  pure  of  nations,  — a fact 
which  the  Jesuits  do  not  deny.  I assure  you  that  they 
tell  their  converts  that  the  reason  why  Protestant  Eng- 
land is  allowed  to  be  so  much  more  righteous  than  the 
Romish  nations  is  — to  try  the  faith  of  the  elect ! ! You 
will  surely  be  above  listening  to  such  anile  sophistry! 
But  still,  you  think,  ‘you  may  be  holier  there  than  here.’ 
Ah,  sir,  ‘ ccelum,  non  animum , mutant , qui  tra?is  mare 
cur  runt?  Ultra-montanism  will  be  a new  system;  but 
not,  I think,  a new  character.  Certain  outward  acts,  and 
certain  inward  feelings,  which  are  all  very  nice,  and  right, 
and  pleasant,  will  be  made  easier  for  you  there  than 
here : you  will  live  so  charmingly  by  rule  and  measure ; 
not  a moment  in  the  day  but  will  be  allotted  out  for  you, 
with  its  appropriate  acts  of  devotion.  True,  now  you 
are  a man,  standing  face  to  face  with  God ; then  you  will 
(believe  one  who  knows)  find  yourself  a machine,  face  to 
face,  not  with  God,  but  with  a priest  and  a system,  and 


On  Romanism 


177 

hosts  of  inferior  deities,  of  which  hereafter.  Oh  ! sir, 
you,  a free-born  Englishman,  brought  up  in  that  liberty 
for  which  your  forefathers  died  on  scaffolds  and  in 
battle-fields  — that  liberty  which  begot  a Shakespeare,  a 
Raleigh,  a Bacon,  Milton,  Newton,  Faraday,  Brooke  — 
will  you  barter  away  that  inestimable  gift  because  Italian 
pedants,  who  know  nothing  of  human  nature  but  from 
the  books  of  prurient  celibates,  tell  you  that  they  have 
got  a surer  ‘ dodge  ’ for  saving  your  soul  than  those  have, 
among  whom  God’s  will,  not  your  own,  has  begotten  and 
educated  you  ? But  you  ‘ will  be  able  to  rise  to  a greater 
holiness  there.’  Holiness,  sir?  Devoutness,  you  mean. 
The  ‘ will  of  God  ’ is  your  holiness  already,  and  you  may 
trust  Him  to  perfect  His  will  in  you  here  — for  here  He 
has  put  you  — if  by  holiness  you  mean  godliness  and 
manliness,  justice  and  mercy,  honesty  and  usefulness. 
But  if  by  holiness  you  mean  ‘ saintliness,’  I quite  agree 
that  Ronie  is  the  place  to  get  that , and  a poor  pitiful 
thing  it  is  when  it  is  got  — not  God’s  ideal  of  a man. 
. . . And  do  not  fancy  that  you  will  really  get  any  spirit- 
ual gain  by  going  over.  The  very  devotional  system 
which  will  educe  and  develop  the  souls  of  people  born 
and  bred  up  under  it,  and  cast,  constitutionally  and  by 
hereditary  associations,  into  its  mould,  will  only  prove  a 
dead  leaden  crushing  weight  on  an  Englishman,  who  has, 
as  you  have,  tasted  from  his  boyhood  the  liberty  of  the 
Spirit  of  God.  You  will  wake,  my  dear  brother,  you 
will  wake,  not  altogether,  but  just  enough  to  find  your- 
self not  believing  in  Romish  doctrines  about  saints  and 
virgins,  absolutions  and  indulgences,  but  only  believing 
in  believmg  them  — an  awful  and  infinite  difference,  on 
which  I beseech  you  earnestly  to  meditate.  You  will 
find  yourself  crushing  the  voice  of  conscience,  common- 
sense,  and  humanity  — I mean  the  voice  of  God  within 
you,  in  order  to  swallow  down  things  at  which  your  gorge 
rises  in  disgust.  You  will  find  the  Romish  practice  as 
different  from  the  Romish  ideal  as  the  English  is  from 
vol.  1.  — 12 


178  Charles  Kingsley 

the  English  ideal,  and  you  will  find  amid  all  your  dis- 
content and  doubts,  that  the  habits  of  religious  excite- 
ment, and  of  leaning  on  priests  whom  you  will  neither 
revere  nor  trust  for  themselves,  will  have  enchained  you 
like  the  habits  of  a drunkard  or  an  opium-eater,  so  that 
you  must  go  back  again  and  again  for  self-forgetfulness 
to  the  spiritual  laudanum-bottle,  which  gives  now  no 
more  pleasant  dreams,  but  only  painful  heartache,  and 
miserable  depression  afterwards.  You  may  answer  — 
This  may  be  all  very  fine,  but  if  Rome  be  the  only  true 
Church,  thither  I must  go,  loss  or  gain.  Most  true.  But 
take  care  how  you  get  at  this  conviction  that  Rome  is  the 
true  Church  ; if  by  a process  of  the  logical  understanding, 
that  is  most  unfair,  for  you  will  have  to  renounce  the  conclu- 
sions of  the  understanding  when  you  go  to  Rome.  How 
then  can  you  let  it  lead  you  to  a system  which  asserts  in 
that  it  has  no  right  to  lead  you  anywhere  at  all  ? 

“But  I must  defer  this  question,  and  also  that  of 
Romish  aesthetics,  to  another  letter.  I make  no  apology 
for  plain  speaking ; these  are  times  in  which  we  must  be 
open  with  each  other.  And  I was  greatly  attracted  by 
the  little  I saw  of  you.  I know  there  is  a sympathy 
between  us;  and,  having  passed  through  these  tempta- 
tions in  my  own  person,  God  would  judge  me  if  I 
did  not  speak  what  He  has  revealed  to  me  in  bitter 
struggles.  One  word  more.  Pray,  answer  this,  and  pray 
wait . Never  take  so  important  a step  without  at  least 
six  months’  deliberate  waiting,  not  till,  but  after  your 
mind  is  made  up.  Five-and-tvventy  years  God  has  let 
you  remain  a Protestant.  Even  if  you  were  wrong  in 
being  one,  He  will  surely  pardon  your  remaining  one 
six  months  longer,  in  a world  wherein  the  roads  of  error 
are  so  many  and  broad  that  a man  may  need  to  look  hard 
to  find  the  narrow  way.” 

Before  resuming  work  again  at  Eversley,  he 
went  to  London,  and  took  up  the  old  thread  by 


Visit  to  London  179 

attending  a Chartist  meeting  and  a workmen’s 
meeting  on  the  Land  Colonization  question,  and 
from  Chelsea  he  writes  to  his  wife: 

. . I could  not  write  yesterday,  being  kept  by  a 
poor  boy  who  had  fallen  off  a truck  at  Croydon  and 
smashed  himself,  whom  I escorted  to  Guy’s  Hospital. 
I breakfasted  with  Bunsen,  such  a divine-looking  man, 
and  so  kind.  I have  worlds  to  tell  you.  Met  F.  New- 
man last  night.  I had  a long  and  interesting  talk  with 
Froude.  . . . 

June  10.  — “ Went  with  Ludlow  to  Lincoln’s-inn  Chapel 
on  Sunday  afternoon  — a noble  sight.  Maurice’s  head 
looked  like  some  great,  awful  Giorgione  portrait  in  the 
pulpit,  but  oh,  so  worn,  and  the  face  worked  so  at  certain 
passages  of  the  sermon.  It  was  very  pleasant,  so  many 
kind  greetings  there  from  old  co-operative  friends.  To- 
night for  the  meeting.  They  expect  to  muster  between 
one  and  two  hundred.  I am  just  going  with  my  father 
and  mother  to  Deptford  to  put  Mary  T.  (an  Eversley 
girl)  on  board  an  emigrant  ship.  . . . Long  and  most 
interesting  talk  with  Mons.  C.,  a complete  Red  Repub- 
lican and  Fourrierist,  who  says  nothing  but  Christianity 
can  save  France  or  the  world.  London  is  perfectly  hor- 
rible. To  you  alone  I look  for  help  and  advice  — God 
and  you,  — else  I think  at  times  I should  cry  myself  to 
death.  . . . There  is  a great  Tailor’s  meeting  on  Friday. 
The  women’s  shoe-makers  are  not  set  up  yet.  My  Vil- 
lage sermons  are  being  lent  from  man  to  man,  among 
the  South  London  Chartists,  at  such  a pace  that  C.  can’t 
get  them  back  again,  and  the  Manchester  men  stole  his 
copy  of  the  ‘ Saint’s  Tragedy.’  ...  I have  just  been  to 
see  Carlyle.” 

June  12.  — “Last  night  will  never  be  forgotten  by 
many,  many  men.  Maurice  was  — I cannot  describe  it. 
Chartists  told  me  this  morning  that  many  were  affected 
even  to  tears.  The  man  was  inspired  — gigantic.  No 
one  commented  on  what  he  said.  He  stunned  us  ! I 


180  Charles  Kingsley 

will  tell  you  all  when  I can  collect  myself.  . . . This 
morning  I breakfasted  with  Dr.  Guy,  and  went  with  him 
Tailor  hunting,  very  satisfactory  as  yet.  . . . Yesterday 
afternoon  with  Professor  Owen  at  the  College  of  Sur- 
geons, where  I saw  unspeakable  things.  ...  I am  afraid 
I must  stay  up  till  Thursday.  I cannot  get  through  my 
work  else.  Kiss  our  babes  for  me.  . . 

He  now  settled  at  Eversley  again,  and  threw 
himself  into  the  full  tide  of  parish  work  with  the 
loving  help  of  his  first  curate,  the  Rev.  H.  Percy 
Smith,  of  Balliol.  The  summer  of  1849  was 
unhealthy;  cholera  was  brooding  over  England, 
and  a bad  low  fever  broke  out  at  Eversley,  which 
gave  him  incessant  work  and  anxiety.  The 
parishioners  got  frightened.  It  was  difficult  to 
get  nurses  for  the  sick,  so  that  he  was  with  them 
at  all  hours;  and  after  sitting  up  a whole  night 
watching  the  case  of  a laborer’s  wife,  the  mother 
of  a large  family,  that  he  might  himself  give  the 
nourishment  every  half-hour  on  which  the  poor 
woman’s  life  depended,  he  once  more  broke  down, 
and  London  doctors  advised  a long  sea  voyage. 
But  he  dreaded  the  long  loneliness,  and  went  to 
Devonshire  instead,  hoping  that  a month’s  quiet 
and  idleness  would  restore  him.  From  thence  he 
writes  to  his  wife  at  Eversley: 

Appledore  : August  10.  — “ Here  I am.  ...  A deli- 
cious passage  down,  in  which  I fell  in  with  a character, 
a Cornish  shipowner  and  fruit-vessel  captain,  who  has 
insisted  on  my  drinking  tea  with  him  this  evening,  and  on 
my  coming  to  see  him  in  September,  at  Boscastle,  near 
Padstow,  where  he  will  give  me  sailing  in  his  little  yacht, 
and  take  me  to  seal  caves  where  they  lie  by  dozens. 
He  is,  of  course,  like  all  Cornish  men,  a great  admirer  of 


In  Devonshire  1 8 1 


your  father.1  Strange,  what  a name  your  father  seems  to 
have  made  for  himself.  The  man  is  a thorough  Cornish- 
man : shrewd,  witty,  religious,  well  informed,  a great 
admirer  of  scenery  ; talks  about  light,  and  shadow,  and 
coloring  more  like  an  artist  than  a brown-fisted  merchant 
skipper,  with  a mass  of  brain  that  might  have  made  any- 
thing had  he  taken  to  books.  I feel  myself  already 
much  better.  The  rich,  hot,  balmy  air,  which  comes  in 
now  through  the  open  window,  off  Braunton  Burrows, 
and  the  beautiful  tide  river,  a mile  wide,  is  like  an 
6 Elixir  of  life  ’ to  me.  No  night  frosts  here.  It  is  as  warm 
as  day.  I expect  a charming  sail  to-morrow,  and  to 
catch  mackerel  on  the  way.  The  coast  down  here 
looked  more  lovely  than  ever ; the  green  fern  and  purple 
heather  have  enriched  the  coloring  since  the  spring; 
showers,  succeeded  by  gleams  of  sun,  give  a wonderful 
freshness  and  delicacy  to  all  the  tints.  Dear  old  Lyn- 
mouth  and  Ilfracombe,  I loved  them,  because  they  seemed 
so  full  of  recollections  of  you  and  the  children.” 

Clovelly.  — “ Safe  settled  at  Mrs.  Whitefield’s  lodg- 
ings. I am  going  out  fishing  to-day  in  the  bay,  if  there 
is  wind ; if  not,  butterfly  hunting.  I was  in  and  out  of 
all  the  houses  last  night,  like  a ferret  in  a rabbit  burrow  — 
all  so  kind.  I feel  unjustifiably  well,  and  often  ask 
myself,  What  right  have  I to  be  here,  while  you  are 
working  at  home  ? . . . My  room  is  about  1 2 ft.  square, 
on  the  first  floor,  a jessamine  and  a fuchsia  running  up 
the  windows.  In  front,  towers  the  wall  of  wood,  oak,  ash, 
and  larch,  as  tender  and  green  as  if  it  were  May  and 
not  August.  I am  near  the  top  of  the  street,  which  lines 
the  bottom  of  this  gorge  of  woods.  On  the  left,  I see 
from  my  windows,  piled  below  me,  the  tops  of  the  nearest 
houses,  and  the  narrow  paved  cranny  of  a street,  vanish- 
ing downwards,  stair  below  stair,  and  then  above  all,  up 


1 Pascoe  Grenfell,  Esq.,  M.P.,  President  of  the  Royal  Exchange, 
and  one  of  the  Copper  Kings  of  England. 


(M.  K.; 


x 9 2 Charles  Kingsley 


in  the  sky  it  seems,  from  the  great  height  at  which  I am, 
the  glorious  blue  bay,  with  its  red  and  purple  cliffs. 
The  Sand-Bar,  and  Braunton,  the  hills  towards  Ilfra- 
combe,  and  Exmoor  like  a great  black  wall  above  all. 
The  bay  is  now  curling  and  writhing  in  white  horses 
under  a smoking  south-wester,  which  promises  a blessing, 
as  it  will  drive  the  mackerel  off  the  Welsh  shore,  where 
they  now  are  in  countless  millions,  into  our  bay  ; and  then 
for  fun  and  food  for  me  and  the  poor  fellows  here,  who 
are  at  their  wits’  end,  because  some  old  noddles  of  doc- 
tors have  persuaded  people  that  fish  gives  the  choleia.  . . . 
Friday  I had  a charming  sail  with  a poor  fellow,  who 
thought  2 s.  too  much,  and  would  work  it  out  by  offering 
to  give  me  a sail  in  his  herring-boat,  which  is  to  come 
off  shortly.  Saturday  I hired  a pony  for  ir.  and 
went  to  Torridge  just  for  the  afternoon  — caught  my 
basket  full,  and  among  them  one  2 lbs. ! ! Never  was  such 
a trout  seen  in  Clovelly  before. 


“ We  had  a charming  trip  yesterday  to  Lundy ; started 
at  six,  and  were  five  hours  going  over  — the  wind  being 
very  light ; but  we  went  along  very  pleasantly  to  a con- 
tinued succession  of  Wesleyan  hymns,  sung  in  parts  most 
sweetly  (every  one  sings  here,  and  sings  in  tune,  and 
well).  We  dined  at  the  farm-house ; dinner  costing  me 
is.  g d. ; and  then  rambled  over  the  island.  I saw  the 
old  Pirate  Moresco’s  Castle  on  the  cliff  the  awful 
granite  cliffs  on  the  west,  with  their  peaks  and  chasms 
lined  with  sea  fowl— -the  coloring  wonderful  — pink 
gray  granite,  with  bright  yellow  lichen  spots,  puip  e 
heather,  and  fern  of  a peculiar  dark  glowing  green. 
You  wanted  no  trees ; the  beauty  of  their  rich  forms  and 
simple  green  was  quite  replaced  by  the  gorgeous  brilliance 
of  the  hues.  And  beyond  and  around  all,  the  lllimitab  e 
Atlantic  — not  green— but  an  intense  sapphirme  black- 
' blue,  such  as  it  never  is  inshore,  and  so  clear,  that  every 
rock  and  patch  of  sea-weed  showed  plain  four  hundred 


In  Devonshire  183 

feet  below  us,  through  the  purple  veil  of  water.  Then  I 
went  back  to  the  landing  cove,  where  shoals  of  mackerel 
were  breaking  up  with  a roar,  like  the  voice  of  many 
waters ; the  cove  like  glass  ; and  one  huge  seal  rolling  his 
black  head  and  shoulders  about  in  the  deep  water  — a 
sight  to  remember  for  ever.  Oh,  that  I had  been  a 
painter  for  that  day  at  least ! And  coming  away,  as  the 
sun  set  behind  the  island,  great  flame-colored  sheets  of 
rack  flared  up  into  the  black  sky  from  off  the  black  line  of 
the  island  top,  and  when  the  sun  set  the  hymns  began 
again,  and  we  slipped  on  home,  while  every  ripple  off  the 
cutter’s  bow  fell  down,  and  ran  along  the  surface  in  flakes 
and  sparkles  of  emerald  fire  ; and  then  the  breeze  died5 
and  we  crawled  under  our  own  huge  cliffs,  through  a 
fiery  sea , among  the  dusky  herring-boats,  for  whom  and 
their  nets  we  had  to  keep  strict  watch,  and  landed,  still 
through  fire,  at  half-past  two  in  the  morning.  We  had  to 
land  on  the  boulder  stones,  which  average  a yard  high, 
covered  with  slippery  sea-weed  at  dead  low  water.  How 
we  got  up  I don’t  know  yet.  The  rocks  seemed  end- 
less . . . but  I did  not  tire  myself  too  much  to  write  a 
line  to  you  before  I got  to  bed,  and  slept  till  1 1 a.m.  I 
send  you  a little  bit  of  dwarf  centaury  off  the  cliff  above 
the  Seal  Caves,  as  a token.  What  am  I to  do  with  eight 
sketches  of  Hero  and  Leander,  which  I have  been  finish- 
ing very  carefully,  and  are  the  best  things  I ever  did? 
Shall  I send  them?  This  place  is  perfect  — continued 
gray  clouds  night  and  day,  just  the  same  warmth.  The 
air  like  a hot  scented  air-bath.  But  it  all  seems  a dream, 
unreal  as  well  as  imperfect,  without  you.  . . . Kiss  the 
darling  children  for  me.  How  I long  after  them  and 
their  prattle.  I delight  in  all  the  little  ones  in  the  street 
for  their  sake,  and  continually  I start  and  fancy  I hear 
their  voices  outside.  You  do  not  know  how  I love  them  • 
nor  did  I hardly  till  I came  here.  After  all,  absence 
quickens  love  into  consciousness.” 

Torridge  Moors.  — u I have  been  fishing  the  Torridge 


184  Charles  Kingsley 

to-day.  Caught  ij  dozen  — very  bright  sun,  which  was 
against  me.  Tennyson  was  down  here  last  year,  and 
walked  in  on  Hawker,  the  West  Country  Poet,  to  collect 
Arthur  legends.  I feel  quite  lonely,  and  long  to  be  home. 
And  these  moors  are  very  desolate,  from  ignorance  and 
neglect  only,  for  they  might  be  made  as  fine  land  as  the 
carse  of  Berwick  and  the  Lothians.  When  will  men  see 
that  God’s  laws  are  their  interest?  Talk  of  mankind 
being  ruled  by  self-interest ! Juggling  fiend.  It  is  its 
own  bane.  None  are  so  blind  to  their  own  interest  as  the 
selfish.  Witness  the  Torridge  Moors.  ...” 

Clovelly  : August  16.  — “ If  I tell  you  that  I am  happy 
outwardly,  you  must  not  suppose  that  I am  not  just  as 
lonely  as  you  at  heart.  . . . All  the  pleasure  of  per- 
fect rest,  and  I am  in  perfect  rest,  and  in  a new-old 
and  lovely  place,  does  not  take  off  the  edge  of  my  soli- 
tude. Already  I feel  it  — how  much  more  a month 
hence ! . . . The  weather  has  been  too  stormy  for 
trawling,  but  I have  got  a few  nice  shells.  . . Last  night 

I gave  a tea-party  with  cream  and  your  cake,  to  my 
landlady  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wimble,  and  we  all  agreed 
we  only  wanted  you  and  my  mother : as  it  was  we  were 
very  merry,  and  finished  with  prayers.  My  landlady 
is  an  extraordinary  woman,  a face  and  figure  as  of  a 
queen,  but  all  thought,  sensibility  and  excitement ; a 
great  ‘ devote  9 and  a true  Christian ; between  grief  and 
religion  she  has  learned  a blessed  lesson.  Old  Wim. 
potters  in,  like  an  old  gray-headed  Newfoundland  dog, 
about  three  times  a day  to  look  after  me.  And  I sit  on 
the  window  seat  and  watch  the  wonderful  coloring  of  the 
bay  spread  like  a map  below  me,  and  just  think  of 

nothing  but home.  To-day  I am  going  out  in  one  of 

the  large  herring-boats ; there  is  plenty  of  wind,  and  the 
herrings  and  mackerel  are  coming  in.  Tell  Rose  I will 
write  her  a letter,  and  thank  her  very  much  for  hers.  Say 
I am  so  pleased  to  hear  she  is  a good  girl.  . . . 

f . . Saturday  I start.  I am  quite  in  spirits  at  the 


In  Devonshire 


^5 

notion  of  the  moor.  It  will  give  me  continual  excite- 
ment; it  is  quite  new  to  me  — and  I am  well  enough 
now  to  walk  in  moderation.  I am  doing  you  a set  more 
drawings  — still  better  I hope.  ‘ The  Artist’s  Wife/ 
seven  or  eight  sketches  of  Claude  Mellot  and  Sabina,  two 
of  my  most  darling  ideals,  with  a scrap  of  conversation 
annexed  to  each,  just  embodying  my  dreams  about  mar- 
ried love  and  its  relation  to  art.  ...” 

Clovelly.  — “This  place/7  he  writes  to  his  mother, 
“ seems  more  beautiful  than  of  old.  Contrary  to  one’s 
usual  experience  in  visiting  old  scenes,  the  hills  are 
higher,  the  vegetation  more  luxuriant,  the  coloring  richer 
than  I had  fancied.  I sail  a great  deal ; the  difficulty  is, 
only  to  make  the  people  take  any  money.  I am  kept  in 
fish,  gratis,  by  half  the  town ; and  at  every  door  there  are 
daily  inquiries,  loving  and  hearty,  after  you  and  my 
father.  How  these  people  love  you  both  ! . . . Happy 
and  idle,  I do  not  know  how  to  get  through  the  day, 
strange  to  say  ! It  is  too  rough  for  trawling  to-day,  and 
too  wet  for  entomologizing.  So  I do  nothing  but  smell 
the  woods,  and  chat  with  W.  Many  thanks  for  frighten- 
ing me  away  from  America.  This  is  the  place.  The 
wounded  bird  goes  to  the  nest.  ...  I felt  a new  life,  a 
renewing  my  youth  like  the  eagle’s,  the  day  after  I got 
here.  The  very  smell  of  W.’s  house  is  a fragrance 
(spiritually  not  physically)  from  the  fairy  gardens  of 
childhood.77 

August  17.  — “I  am  doing  nothing/7  he  writes  to  Mr. 
Ludlow,  “but  fish,  sail,  chat  with  old  sailor  and  Wesleyan 
cronies,  and  read,  by  way  of  a nice  mixture,  Rabelais, 
Pierre  Leroux  [on  Christianity  and  Democracy],  and 
Ruskin.  The  second  is  indeed  a blessed  dawn.  The 
third,  a noble,  manful,  godly  book,  a blessed  dawn  too  : 
but  I cannot  talk  about  them ; I am  as  stupid  as  a por- 
poise, and  I lie  in  the  window,  and  smoke  and  watch 
the  glorious  cloud-phantasmagoria,  infinite  in  color  and 
form,  crawling  across  the  vast  bay  and  deep  woods  below, 


1 86  Charles  Kingsley 

and  draw  little  sketches  of  figures,  and  do  not  even 
dream,  much  Jess  think.  Blessed  be  God  for  the  rest, 
though  I never  before  felt  the  loneliness  of  being  without 
the  beloved  being,  whose  every  look  and  word  and 
motion  are  the  keynotes  of  my  life.  People  talk  of  love 
ending  at  the  altar.  . . . Fools  ! . . 

TO  HIS  WIFE 

“ Here  I am  at  Chagford  in  a beautiful  old  mullioned 
and  gabled  c perpendicular  7 inn  — granite  and  syenite 
everywhere  — my  windows  looking  out  on  the  old  church- 
yard, and  beyond,  a wilderness  of  lovely  hills  and  woods 
— two  miles  from  the  moor  — fresh  air  and  health  every- 
where. I went  up  into  the  moor  yesterday,  and  killed  a 
dish  of  fish.  Stay  here  for  three  days,  and  then  move  to 
Holne.  Then  home  ! home ! home ! How  I thirst 
for  it.’ 7 

September  4.  — “ Starting  out  to  fish  down  to  Drew’s 
Teignton  — the  old  Druids’  sacred  place,  to  see  Logan 
stones  and  cromlechs.  Yesterday  was  the  most  charming 
solitary  day  I ever  spent  in  my  life  — scenery  more 
lovely  than  tongue  can  tell.  It  brought  out  of  me  the 
following  bit  of  poetry,  with  many  happy  tears  : 

“ I cannot  tell  what  you  say,  green  leaves, 

I cannot  tell  what  you  say ; 

But  I know  that  there  is  a spirit  in  you, 

And  a word  in  you  this  day. 

“ I cannot  tell  what  ye  say,  rosy  rocks, 

I cannot  tell  what  ye  say; 

But  I know  that  there  is  a spirit  in  you, 

And  a word  in  you  this  day. 

“ I cannot  tell  what  ye  say,  brown  streams, 

I cannot  tell  what  ye  say ; 

But  I know  in  you  too,  a spirit  doth  live, 

And  a word  in  you  this  day.77 


In  Devonshire  187 

The  Word's  Answer 

u Oh,  rose  is  the  color  of  love  and  youth, 

And  green  is  the  color  of  faith  and  truth, 

And  brown  of  the  fruitful  clay. 

The  earth  is  fruitful,  and  faithful,  and  young, 

And  her  bridal  morn  shall  rise  ere  long, 

And  you  shall  know  what  the  rocks  and  the  streams, 
And  the  laughing  green-woods  say  ! ” 

Two  Bridges.  — 44  Got  on  the  Teign  about  three  miles 
up,  and  tracked  it  into  the  moor.  About  two  miles  in  the 
moor  I found  myself  to  my  delight  in  the  ruins  of  an  old 
British  town,  as  yet,  I fancy,  unknown.  The  circular 
town  wall,  circular  gardens,  circular  granite  huts,  about 
twenty  feet  in  diameter,  all  traceable.  All  round  was 
peat-bog,  indicating  the  site  of  ancient  forests.  For  you 
must  know  that  of  old,  Dart  Moor  was  a forest  — its 
valleys  filled  with  alder  and  hazel,  its  hillsides  clothed 
with  birch,  oak,  and  4 care/  mountain  ash.  But  these, 
like  the  Irish,  were  destroyed  to  drive  out  the  Cymry, 
and  also  dwindled  of  their  own  accord,  having  exhausted 
the  soil ; and  moreover,  the  scrub,  furze,  and  heather 
which  succeeded  them,  having  been  periodically  burnt 
down  for  centuries,  that  grass  for  cattle  may  spring  up. 
So  that  the  hills  now  are  covered  with  coarse  pasture,  or 
a peat  soil,  which  wraps  the  hills  round,  and  buries  the 
granite  rocks,  and  softens  all  the  outlines  till  the  moor 
looks  like  an  enormous  alternation  of  chalk  downs  and  peat 
bogs,  only  that  the  downs  are  strewn  with  huge  granite 
stones  and  capped  with  4 tors,’  which  cannot  be  described 
— only  seen.  I sketched  two  or  three  this  afternoon 
for  you.  Well,  I got  to  Teign  head  — through  a boggy 
glen.  Out  of  the  river  banks,  which  were  deep  peat,  I 
got  a piece  of  fossil  birch  bark  for  you.  Then  I climbed 
a vast  anticlinal  ridge,  and  seeing  a great  tor  close  by,  I 
could  not  resist  the  temptation,  and  went  up.  Oh  ! what 
a scene  ! a sea  of  mountains  all  round,  and  in  the  far  east 
wooded  glens,  fertile  meadows,  twenty  miles  off  — far  — - 


i 88  Charles  Kingsley 

far  below ; and  here  and  there  through  the  rich  country 
some  spur  of  granite  hill  peeped  up,  each  with  its  tor,  like 
a huge  ruined  castle,  on  the  top.  Then,  in  the  midst  of 
a bog,  on  the  top  of  the  hill,  I came  on  two  splendid 
Druid  circles,  ‘ the  gray  wethers,’  as  I afterwards  found 
out,  five  and  thirty  yards  in  diameter  — stones  about  five 
feet  above  the  bog  — perhaps  more  still  below  it  — evi- 
dently a sun  temple  in  the  heart  of  a great  oak  forest,  now 
gone.  I traced  the  bog  round  for  miles,  and  the  place 
was  just  one  to  be  holy,  being,  I suppose,  one  of  the  loft- 
iest woods  in  the  moor.  After  that,  ail  was  down,  down, 
down,  over  the  lawn  and  through  deep  gorges,  to  the 
East  Dart.  At  Port  Bridge,  I meant  to  sleep,  but  found 
myself  so  lively  that  I walked  on  the  four  miles  to  this 
place  — twenty  miles  about,  of  rough  mountain,  and  got 
in  as  fresh  as  a bird.  The  day  was  burning  bright,  so  I 
only  killed  a dozen  or  so  of  fish.  Every  valley  has  its  beau 
tiful  clear  stream,  with  myriad  fish  among  great  granite 
boulders.  To-day  I walked  over,  after  breakfast,  to 
Cherry  Brook,  the  best  fishing  on  the  moor  — the  sharp 
easterly  wind  made  the  fish  lie  like  stones  — and  down 
Cherry  Brook  and  up  Dart  home,  and  I only  killed 
seventeen.  Then,  after  luncheon,  I sallied  to  Wistmen’s 
(Wisemen’s)  wood  — the  last  remaining  scrap  of  primeval 
forest.  But  I shall  write  all  night  to  tell  you  all  I saw 
and  felt.  I send  you  an  oak  leaf  from  the  holy  trees, 
and  a bit  of  moss  from  them  — as  many  mosses  as  leaves 
— poor  old  Britons ! The  gray  moss  is  from  the  ruins 
of  an  old  Cymry  house  near  by — a Druid  may  have 
lived  in  it ! The  whortle  berry  is  from  the  top  of  a 
wonderful  rock  three  miles  on,  which  I have  sketched. 
Oh,  such  a place  ! I climbed  to  the  top.  I was  alone 
with  God  and  the  hills  — the  Dart  winding  down  a thou- 
sand feet  below  — I could  only  pray.  And  I felt  impelled 
to  kneel  on  the  top  of  the  rock  — it  seemed  the  only  true 
state  to  be  in,  in  any  place  so  primaeval  — so  awful  — 
which  made  one  feel  so  indescribably  little  and  puny. 


In  Devonshire 


1 89 

And  I did  pray  — and  the  Lord’s  Prayer  too  — it  seemed 
the  only  thing  to  express  one’s  heart  in.  But  I will  tell 
you  all  at  home  ! ...  It  is  an  infinite  relief  and  rest  to  me 
to  have  seen  even  some  little  of  the  moor.  I was  always 
from  a child  longing  for  it,  and  now,  thank  God,  that  is  ful- 
filled. To-morrow  I walk  to  Holne 1 by  Cator’s  Beam, 
/.<?.,  over  the  highest  mountain  on  the  South  Moor,  from 
which  all  the  South  Devon  streams  rise.  Sunday  I spend 
at  Holne,  and  Thursday  home  ! It  seems  — sometimes  a 
day,  sometimes  a year  since  I saw  you.  I shall  bring  you 
home  several  drawings  and  sketches,  both  of  figures  and 
of  the  moor  scenery.  Kiss  the  darling  babes  for  me.” 

TO  HIS  FATHER 

Eversley  : September,  1849.  — “ I had  purposed  to 
have  written  to  you  from  Holne,  but  being  panic-struck 
at  the  increased  ill-health  of  the  parish,  I hurried  home 
where  I am.  What  I saw  of  Holne  more  than  justified 
your  praises  and  drawings  of  it.  Hazel  Tor  is  to  me  the 
finest  thing  I have  seen  except  the  Upper  Wye,  which 
the  whole  place  much  resembles  (I  mean  from  Plinlim- 
mon  to  Presteign).  Of  Benjay  Tor  I did  not  see  as 
much  as  I wished.  But  of  that  kind  of  scenery  I had 
seen  much  on  the  High  Teign  the  preceding  week,  at 
Gidleigh,  Drew’s  Teign  ton,  which  quite  astonished  me 
by  its  mingled  lusciousness  and  grandeur.  The  distinc- 
tive and  specific  glory  of  Holne  was  the  descent  into 
cultivation  down  Holne  Ridge,  after  four  hours’  awful 
silence  and  desolation  from  Fox  Tor  Mire,  along  the 
Titanic  ridges  of  Cator’s  Beam,  Aum  Head,  Peter  in  the 
Mount,  and  over  the  black  bog  which  varies  the  primaeval 
forest,  the  first  gleam  of  spires,  and  woods,  and  chequered 
fields,  first  tinkle  of  the  sheep  bell,  and  creak  of  the  plough, 
and  halloo  of  boys,  and  the  murmur  of  the  hidden  Dart. 

1 Mrs.  Kingsley,  senior,  left  Holne  when  Charles  was  a baby 
six  weeks  old,  so  that  this  visit  was  the  son’s  introduction  to  his 
birthplace,  except  through  sketches  and  descriptions.  (M.  K.) 


190  Charles  Kingsley 

I could  only  pray  and  thank  God  for  showing  me  such 
a thing.  The  people,  all  whom  I saw,  were  full  of  you, 
and  welcomed  me  as  your  son.  Two  fellows  in  the 
public-house  were  glorying  in  two  books  which  you  gave 
them  the  day  you  left.  ...  I shall  be  in  London  shortly, 
and  shall  ‘ tell ’ to  you,  usque  ad  nauseam . I am  as  well 
as  ever  I was  in  my  life  in  health  and  spirits  : quite  strong 
and  able  to  walk  stoutly  twenty  miles  and  more  a day 
over  the  bogs  and  the  rocks.  I need  not  say  I shall  be 
careful.  Early  to  bed  and  to  rise  are  now  indeed  a point 
of  conscience  with  me.  . . . ” 

And  now  he  returned  to  fresh  labors  in  his 
parish.  He  added  a Sunday  evening  service  in 
a cottage  at  some  distance  from  the  church,  which 
was  crowded.  “ Alton  Locke  ” was  gradually 
getting  into  shape.  His  reviews  in  “ Fraser’s 
Magazine,”  principally  on  modern  Poetry  and 
Novels,  helped  him  to  pay  his  curate.  Cholera 
was  once  more  in  England,  and  sanitary  matters 
absorbed  him  more  and  more.  He  preached  three 
striking  sermons  at  Eversley,  on  Cholera,  “Who 
causes  Pestilence?”  (National  Sermons.)  He 
worked  in  London  and  the  country  in  the  crusade 
against  dirt  and  bad  drainage.  The  terrible  reve- 
lations of  the  state  of  the  water  supply  in 
London  saddened  and  sickened  him,  and  with 
indefatigable  industry  he  got  up  statistics  from 
Blue  Books,  Reports,  and  his  own  observations, 
for  an  article  in  the  “North  British  Review” 
on  the  subject.  An  eminent  London  physician, 
speaking  of  the  opinion  of  the  medical  profession 
regarding  his  work,  says,  “We  all  knew  well  your 
noble  husband’s  labors  in  the  cause  of  the  public 
health,  when  it  was  too  little  thought  of  by 
statesmen.  He  led  the  way.” 


Sanitary  Work  191 

" It  was  this  sense, ” said  Dean  Stanley,  “ that  he  was  a 
thorough  Englishman  — one  of  yourselves,  working,  toil- 
ing, feeling  with  you  and  like  you  — that  endeared  him  to 
you.  Artisans  and  working  men  of  London,  you  know  how 
he  desired,  with  a passionate  desire,  that  you  should  have 
pure  air,  pure  water,  habitable  dwellings,  that  you  should 
be  able  to  share  the  courtesies,  the  refinements,  the  eleva- 
tion of  citizens,  and  of  Englishmen  ; and  you  may,  therefore, 
trust  him  the  more  when  he  told  you  from  the  pulpit,  and 
still  tells  you  from  the  grave,  that  your  homes  and  your 
lives  should  be  no  less  full  of  moral  purity  and  light.  . . . ” 

TO  HIS  WIFE 

Chelsea  : October  24,  1849.  — “I  was  yesterday  with 
George  Walsh  and  Mansfield  over  the  cholera  districts 
of  Bermondsey  ; and,  oh,  God  ! what  I saw  ! people  hav- 
ing no  water  to  drink  — hundreds  of  them  — but  the 
water  of  the  common  sewer  which  stagnated  full  of  . . . 
dead  fish,  cats  and  dogs,  under  their  windows.  At  the 
time  the  cholera  was  raging,  Walsh  saw  them  throwing 
untold  horrors  into  the  ditch,  and  then  dipping  out  the 
water  and  drinking  it ! ! Oh,  entreat  Mr.  Warre  ” (a 
Member  of  Parliament)  “to  read  the  account  of  the 
place  in  the  ‘ Morning  Chronicle ? of  last  week,  and  try 
every  nerve  to  get  a model  lodging-house  there ; why 
should  people  spend  money  and  time  in  making  a play- 
thing model  parish  of  St.  Barnabas,  where  there  are  three 
rich  to  one  poor,  while  whole  square  miles  of  other  parts 
of  London  are  in  the  same  state  as  two  or  three  streets 
only  of  Upper  Chelsea?  And  mind,  these  are  not  dirty, 
debauched  Irish,  but  honest  hard-working  artisans.  It  is 
most  pathetic,  as  Walsh  says,  it  makes  him  literally  cry  — 
to  see  the  poor  souls*  struggle  for  cleanliness,  to  see  how 
they  scrub  and  polish  their  little  scrap  of  pavement,  and 
then  go  through  the  house  and  see  ‘ society]  leaving  at 
the  back  poisons  and  filth  — such  as  would  drive  a lady 
mad,  I think,  with  disgust  in  twenty-four  hours.  Oh,  that 


192  Charles  Kingsley 

I had  the  tongue  of  St.  James,  to  plead  for  those  poor 
fellows ! to  tell  what  I saw  myself,  to  stir  up  some  rich 
men  to  go  and  rescue  them  from  the  tyranny  of  the  small 
shopkeeping  landlords,  who  get  their  rents  out  of  the  flesh 
and  blood  of  these  men.  Talk  of  the  horrors  of  ‘the 
middle  passage.5  Oh,  that  one-tenth  part  of  the  money 
which  has  been  spent  in  increasing,  by  mistaken  benevo- 
lence, the  cruelties  of  the  slave-trade,  had  been  spent  in 
buying  up  these  nests  of  typhus,  consumption,  and  chol- 
era, and  rebuilding  them  into  habitations  fit  — I do  not 
say  for  civilized  Englishmen  — that  would  be  too  much, 
but  for  hogs  even ! I will  say  no  more.  Remember  it 
is  not  a question  of  alms.  It  is  only  to  get  some  man  to 
take  the  trouble  of  making  a profitable  investment,  and 
getting  six  per  cent,  for  his  money.  I will  put  him  in 
communication  with  those  who  know  all  the  facts  if  he 
will  help  us.  Twenty  pounds  sent  to  us,  just  to  start  a 
water-cart,  and  send  it  round  at  once  — at  once  — for 
the  people  are  still  in  these  horrors,  would  pay  itself.  I 
can  find  men  who  will  work  the  thing.  Ludlow,  Mans- 
field, the  Campbells,  will  go  and  serve  out  the  water  with 
their  own  hands,  rather  than  let  it  go  on.  Pray,  pray, 
stir  people  up,  and  God  will  reward  you.  Kiss  my 
darlings  for  me. 

“ P.  S.  — Do  not  let  them  wait  for  committee  meetings 
and  investigations  ; while  they  will  be  maundering  about 
‘vested  interests/  and  such  like,  the  people  are  dying. 
I start  to-morrow  for  Oxford  to  see  the  bishop  about 
these  Bermondsey  horrors.  Direct  to  me  there.  The 
proper  account  of  Bermondsey  is  in  the  ‘ Morning  Chroni- 
cle’ of  September  24,  published  a month  ago,  and  yet 
nothing  done,  or  likely  to  be  ! ! ” 

Oxford.  — “ . . . I saw  the  Bishop  of  Oxford  yester- 
day. Most  satisfactory  interview.  I am  more  struck  with 
him  than  with  any  man,  except  Bunsen,  I have  seen  for  a 
long  time.  Also  Arch-deacon  M—  disappointed,  but 
interested  me.  Had  no  notion  that  such  specimens  of 


Sanitary  Work  193 

humanity  were  still  to  be  found  walking  about  this  nine- 
teenth century  England.  But  he  looks  a good  man. 
How  I long  for  your  dear  face  and  voice.  . . . ” 

Eversley  : November . — “ My  friends,”  he  writes  to 
Mr.  Ludlow,  “ why  tarry  the  wheels  of  your  water  carts, 
why  are  your  stand  pipes  truly  stand  still  pipes  ? Why 
are  you  so  confoundedly  merciful  and  tender-hearted  ? Do 
you  actually  fancy  that  you  can  talk  those  landlords  into 
repentance  ? Will  men  repent  for  being  told  ? are  men 
capable  of  repentance  who  will  go  on  doing  what  they 
have  been  doing?  and  is  their  interest  changed  by  the 
fact  of  your  wanting  them  to  lay  on  water  ? and  do  you 
trust  the  water  company?  You  see  they  are  trying  to 
restrict,  not  to  extend.  You  must  go  to  the  higher  pow- 
ers. 1 st.  To  the  Chairman  of  Bermondsey  Improvement 

Commission.  Now,  what  is  this  Commission?  By  what 
authority  does  it  pretend  to  act?  If  it  is  one  of  the  New 
Local  Commissions  under  the  Health  of  Towns  Act  it  can 
serve  nuisance  notices,  and  make  people  obey  them. 
Therefore  the  chairman  is  a twaddler,  if  he  only  talks  of 
wanting  to  do  what  he  can  do  if  he  likes.  Therefore  find 
out  whether  a majority  of  these  Commissioners  will  serve 
nuisance  notices,  &c.  2.  On  whom.  Whom  does  the 

ditch  belong  to?  The  Commissioners  of  Sewers  or  the 
Landlords?  Find  out  that  and  tell  me,  and  try  for  in- 
dicting the  Commissioners  of  Sewers,  whose  names  I saw 
painted  up.  Next.  Just  tell  me  what  you  have  found  out 
on  these  points,  and  I will  write  to  Lord  Carlisle  and  Lord 
John  Russell,  as  the  Bishop  of  Oxford  told  me,  and  ask 
for  interviews.  I write  to  Helps  to-night.  Lastly,  have 
the  pamphlets  been  sent  round?  People  write  that  they 
will  help  when  they  know  either  what  is  the  matter  or 
how  to  mend  it,  but  that  no  pamphlets  have  come  to 
them.  When  I know  that,  I will  go  to  Farnham  and  see 
the  Bishop  of  Winchester.  What  has  become  of  your 
public  meeting  plan?  /am  ready.  Or  your  placards? 
/ am  ready  to  write  them.  Now  just  give  me  an  answer, 

vol.  1.  — 13 


194  Charles  Kingsley 

dear  boys.  ...  I like  Mansfield’s  notion  of  a Sanitary 
League.  It  will  act  like  a wedge.  Papers  and  preach- 
ments are  ‘ as  a man  beholding  his  natural  face  in  a glass/ 
&c.  Still,  we  ’ll  try  them  ; tell  me  my  work,  and  I will  do 
it  with  God’s  help.  ...” 

December  30.  — “I  am  shamed  and  sickened  by  the 
revelations  in  your  article  in  ( Fraser’s  ’ ; they  were  new  to 
me  except  about  the  tailors.  . . . Put  by  my  pamphlet 
and  write  one  yourself ; you  would  do  it  seven  times  as 
well.  I send  you  up  the  rest  of  the  MSS. ; but  they  are 
not  worthy  of  the  cause.  Perhaps  you  might  make 
something  of  them  by  doctoring;  but  I cannot  speak 
about  association  ; it  is  our  only  hope,  but  I know  nothing 
about  it,  or  about  anything  else.  If  I had  not  had  the  com- 
munion at  church  to-day,  to  tell  me  that  Jesus  does  reign, 
I should  have  blasphemed  in  my  heart,  I think,  and  said  the 
devil  is  king ! I come  up  Tuesday,  and  will  see  you  at 
your  rooms.  I have  a wild  longing  to  do  something . 
What  — God  only  knows.  You  say,  4 He  that  believeth 
will  not  make  haste ; 9 but  I think  he  that  believeth  must 
make  haste.  But  I will  do  anything  that  anybody  likes. 
I have  no  confidence  in  myself,  or  in  anything  but  God. 
I am  not  great  enough  for  such  times,  alas  ! . . .” 

“ . . . Such  questions  as  these,”  he  says  (in  an  article 
on  the  water  supply  of  London)  “ involving  not  merely 
profits,  but  health,  sobriety,  decency,  life,  are  to  be  judged 
of,  not  by  the  code,  or  in  the  language  of  the  market,  but 
of  the  Bible.  . . . Even  the  hard  and  soft  water  contro- 
versy is  not  a mere  matter  of  soap  and  tea  expenditure, 
but  of  humanity  and  morality.  . . . 

“ We  may  choose  to  look  at  the  masses  in  the  gross,  as 
subjects  for  statistics  — and  of  course,  where  possible,  of 
profits.  There  is  One  above  who  knows  every  thirst  and 
ache,  and  sorrow,  and  temptation  of  each  slattern,  and 
gin-drinker,  and  street  boy.  The  day  will  come  when 
He  will  require  an  account  of  these  neglects  of  ours  not 
in  the  gross.  . . 


Development  of  “ Yeast  ” 195 

To  Thomas  Cooper.]  — December  6.  — . . I find 
the  good  cause  living  and  growing  fast  — slowly  enough, 
God  knows,  for  all  the  evils  which  have  to  be  removed, 
but  wonderfully  fast,  considering  the  mountains  of  preju- 
dice, selfishness,  covetousness,  and  humbug,  which  it  has 
to  dig  through.  On  one  point  I am  a little  pained  and 
startled  — I mean  Mr.  Cobden’s  Freehold  Land  Society 
speech.  It  seems  to  me  that  he  openly  avows  the  inten- 
tion of  setting  up  a number  of  small  absentee  proprietors, 
resident  in  towns,  and  holding  land  in  the  country.  Now 
I would  be  just  as  glad  to  see  a non-resident  40^.  free- 
holder in  the  pillory,  as  a non-resident  ,£40,000  one. 
And  I honestly  declare,  that  the  worst  cases  of  tyranny, 
of  neglect  of  property,  and  high  rents  taken  for  ‘ man- 
styes/  which  I see,  are  on  these  little  freeholds  of  poor 
landlords,  who  run  up  houses  anyhow,  to  make  the 
ground  pay.  ‘A  poor  man  who  oppresses  the  poor/ 
says  Solomon,  ‘is  like  a sweeping  rain  that  leaveth  no 
food/  and  I say,  ‘True  ! ’ It  does  seem  to  me  that  this 
project  would  thus  increase  one  of  the  very  evils  which 
has  pressed  on  the  working  man,  and  made  his  dwellings 
unfit  for  human  habitation;  and  I fear,  too,  that  the 
greater  part  of  these  freeholds  would  become  the  prop- 
erty, not  of  workmen,  but  small  retail  tradesmen  — a 
class  which,  as  you  and  I know,  are  a curse  to  the 
workmen.  Pray  enlighten  me  on  these  points.  I am 
quite  open  to  conviction  if  my  fears  are  unfounded.  . . .” 

To  J.  M.  L.  — “I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  ‘Yeast/ 
and  in  doing  so  consolidate  my  own  notions  on  it.  It  is  not 
going  to  die,  but  re-appear  under  a different  name  and 
form,  and  in  fresh  scenes.  Lancelot  is  to  be  ruined,  go 
up  to  London  and  turn  artist.  In  ‘Yeast/  as  its  name 
implies,  I have  tried  to  show  the  feelings  which  are 
working  in  the  age,  in  a fragmentary  and  turbid  state.  In 
the  next  part,  ‘ The  Artists/  I shall  try  to  unravel  the 
tangled  skein,  by  means  of  conversations  on  art,  con- 


196  Charles  Kingsley 

nected  as  they  will  be  necessarily  with  the  deepest 
questions  of  science,  anthropology,  social  life,  and 
Christianity.  And  looking  at  the  art  of  a people  as  at 
once  the  very  truest  symbol  of  its  faith,  and  a vast  means 
for  its  further  education,  I think  it  a good  path  in 
which  to  form  the  mind  of  my  hero,  the  man  of  the 
coming  age.  He,  and  his  friend  Mellot,  and  his  cousin 
Luke,  who  has  just  turned  Romanist,  will  be  typical  of 
the  three  great  schools.  Mellot  of  the  mere  classic 
Pagan,  and  of  the  Fourierism  which  seems  to  me  to  be 
its  representative  in  the  world  of  doctrines ; Luke  of 
the  Puginesque  Manichsean,  or  exclusively  spiritual 
school;  and  Lancelot  who  tries  historic  painting,  and 
finding  that  there  is  nothing  to  paint  about,  falls  back  on 
landscapes  and  animals,  on  the  simple  naturalism  of  our 
Landseers  and  Creswicks,  the  only  living  school  of  art  as 
yet  possible  in  England.  He  is  raised  above  his  mere 
faith  in  nature  by  the  simple  Christianity  of  Tregarva,  at 
the  same  time  that  he  is  taught  by  him  that  true  democ- 
racy which  considers  the  beautiful  the  heritage  of  the 
poor  as  well  as  of  the  rich ; and  Tregarva  in  his  turn 
becomes  the  type  of  English  art-hating  Puritanism,  grad- 
ually convinced  of  the  divine  mission  of  art,  and  of  its 
being  the  rightful  child,  not  of  Popery,  but  of  Protestan- 
tism alone.  Thus  I think  Lancelot,  having  grafted  on 
his  own  naturalism,  the  Christianity  of  Tregarva,  the 
classicism  of  Mellot,  and  the  spiritual  symbolism  of  Luke, 
ought  to  be  in  a state  to  become  the  mesothetic  artist  of 
the  future,  and  beat  each  of  his  tutors  at  their  own  wea- 
pons, as  the  mesothet  will  always  include  a perfect  each  of 
the  poles  connected  with  it.  But  where  will  Argemone 
be  all  this  time?  You  have  your  fears  that  she  will  be 
too  like  Lancelot : but  I cannot  help  exhibiting  in  her  the 
same  restlessness  and  dissatisfaction  with  the  present  as  in 
him,  because  I see  it  equally  common  now-a-days  in  both 
sexes,  and  I take  it  as  the  painful,  yet  most  hopeful  sign 
of  the  times.  There  will  still  be  a true  polarity  (a  merely 


Development  of  “Yeast  ” 197 

sexual  one,  being  both  ideals  without  any  strongly  marked 
peculiarities)  between  her  and  her  lover.  She  will  retain 
the  virginal  purity,  the  conscientious  earnestness  of 
will,  the  strong  conservative  ecclesiastical  prejudices, 
which  go  to  make  the  ideal  Englishwoman.  She  will  be 
his  complementum,  and  consider  on  the  ground  of  the 
affections,  the  same  questions  which  he  is  examining  on 
the  ground  of  the  intellect.  She  must  be  educating  her 
head  through  her  heart,  he  his  heart  through  his  head. 
She  as  heiress  of  Whitford  must  try  all  sorts  of  accredited 
methods  for  its  improvement,  and  find  them  all  fail, 
because  unconnected  with  the  great  principles  which 
God  is  manifesting  in  this  age  ; and  then  when  the  lovers 
are  at  last  united,  and  Whitford  becomes  their  work  field, 
he  will  supply  her  with  social  and  anthropological  princi- 
ples on  which  to  base  her  labors,  and  she  will  translate 
his  theories  for  him  into  objects  of  passionate  enthusiasm 
to  be  embodied  in  the  charities  of  daily  life.  And  so  I 
think  the  two  may  become  an  ideal  pair  of  pioneers 
toward  the  society  of  the  future,  the  <ttolx*l(l  of  which 
will  be  given  in  a third  and  last  volume,  to  be  written  — 
when  ? This  is  a long  preface.  Whether  I shall  be  able 
to  fulfil  my  designs  remains  to  be  proved.  Perhaps  I am 
aiming  at  too  much,  perhaps  I am  meddling  with  matters 
I don’t  understand.  But  if  one  needs  must  go  when  the 
devil  drives,  how  much  more  when  One  very  different 
from  him  impels  one  to  speak  at  all  costs  ? And  after 
all,  4 it  shall  be  given  you  in  that  hour  what  ye  shall 
speak  ; 9 and  I am  in  no  hurry,  — five  years  will  not  be  too 
long  to  occupy  in  working  out  the  plan,  and  I want,  when 
'Yeast/  and  'the  Artists  * have  appeared  in  ' Fraser’s/  to 
take  them  out,  work  them  over,  and  enlarge  them,  and 
then  take  my  time  over  the  last  or  positive  volume. 
So  ends  a long  letter  all  about  myself.  When  will  you 
come  and  see  me  ? . . .” 

“ Yeast, ” which  as  yet  had  only  appeared  in 
the  pages  of  “ Fraser,”  made  a deep  impression  at 


198  Charles  Kingsley 

Oxford,  and  from  this  time  young  men  gathered 
more  and  more  around  him.  Eversley  Rectory 
now  became  a centre  to  inquiring  spirits,  and  re- 
mained so  to  the  end. 

“ . . . His  personal  power  of  appeal  to  young  men,” 
said  a young  London  artist,  who  saw  much  of  him  during 
the  last  years  of  his  life,  “ was  very  great : though,  as  I 
think,  in  a somewhat  different  direction  to  the  one  usually 
imagined.  It  \yas  of  a far  more  tender,  strict,  and  refin- 
ing nature  than  I have  found  it  was  popularly  supposed 
to  be.  . . . In  the  first  half-hour  of  my  knowing  him, 
I found  him  listening  to  me  with  as  much  attention  and 
kindness  as  he  would  have  given  to  one  of  his  own  age 
and  attainments.  I felt  that  whilst  and  whenever  I was 
with  him  he  gave  me  his  best . If  I asked  him  anything 
he  would  tell  me  the  best  he  thought,  knew,  or  felt. 
Young  men  know  how  rare  this  is  with  men  of  Mr. 
Kingsley’s  age  and  ability ; and  none  know  better  than 
they  how  delightful  also  it  is  when  it  is  met  with.  It 
commanded  my  love  and  admiration  more  than  I could 
say.  He  always  seemed  content  with  the  society  he  was 
in ; because,  I think,  he  loved  and  educated  himself  to 
draw  out  the  best  of  everyone,  to  touch  on  the  stronger 
and  not  on  the  weaker  points ; and  when  I was  with  him 
I always  felt  as  much  at  home  as  if  I were  with  one  of 
my  own  college  friends.  . . .” 

Mr.  C.  Kegan  Paul  vividly  recalls  his  first  visit 
to  the  Rectory  in  1849: 

“ . 0 . The  day  after  my  arrival  we  dined  at  the 
Rectory.  . . . We  went  into  the  study  afterwards  while 
Kingsley  smoked  his  pipe,  and  the  evening  is  one  of 
those  that  stand  out  in  my  memory  with  peculiar  vivid- 
ness. I had  never  then,  I have  seldom  since,  heard  a 
man  talk  so  well.  His  conversational  powers  were  very 
remarkable.  In  the  first  place  he  had,  as  may  be  easily 


Influence  on  Young  Men  199 

understood  by  the  readers  of  his  books,  a rare  command 
of  racy  and  correct  English,  while  he  was  so  many-sided 
that  he  could  take  keen  interest  in  almost  any  subject 
which  attracted  those  about  him.  He  had  read,  and 
read  much,  not  only  in  matters  which  everyone  ought  to 
know,  but  had  gone  deeply  into  many  out-of-the-way 
and  unexpected  studies.  Old  medicine,  magic,  the  occult 
properties  of  plants,  folk-lore,  mesmerism,  nooks  and 
by-ways  of  history,  old  legends ; on  all  these  he  was  at 
home.  On  the  habits  and  dispositions  of  animals  he 
would  talk  as  though  he  were  that  king  in  the  Arabian 
Nights  who  understood  the  language  of  beasts,  or  at 
least  had  lived  among  the  gypsies  who  loved  him  so  well. 
The  stammer,  which  in  those  days  was  so  much  more 
marked  than  in  later  years,  and  which  was  a serious  dis- 
comfort to  himself,  was  no  drawback  to  the  charm  of  his 
conversation.  Rather  the  hesitation  before  some  bril- 
liant flash  of  words  served  to  lend  point  to  and  intensify 
what  he  was  saying ; and  when,  as  he  sometimes  did,  he 
fell  into  a monologue,  or  recited  a poem  in  his  sonorous 
voice,  the  stammer  left  him  wholly.  . . . When,  however, 
I use  the  word  monologue,  it  must  not  be  supposed  that 
he  ever  monopolized  the  talk.  He  had  a courteous 
deference  for  the  opinions  of  the  most  insignificant 
person  in  the  circle,  and  was  even  too  tolerant  of  a bore. 
With  all  his  vast  powers  of  conversation,  and  ready  to 
talk  on  every  or  any  subject,  he  was  never  superficial. 
What  he  knew  he  knew  well,  and  was  always  ready  to 
admit  the  fact  when  he  did  not  know.  . . . 

“To  those  who,  in  the  years  of  which  we  speak,  were 
constant  guests  at  Eversley,  that  happy  home  can  never 
be  forgotten.  Kingsley  was  in  the  vigor  of  his  manhood 
and  of  his  intellectual  powers,  was  administering  his  parish 
with  enthusiasm,  was  writing,  reading,  fishing,  walking, 
preaching,  talking,  with  a twenty-parson  power,  but  was 
at  the  same  time  wholly  unlike  the  ordinary  and  conven- 
tional parson.  . . . His  temperament  was  artistic  and 


200  Charles  Kingsley 


impulsive.  . . . His  physical  frame  was  powerful  and 
wiry,  his  complexion  dark,  his  eye  bright  and  piercing. 
Yet  he  often  said  he  did  not  think  that  his  would  be  a 
long  life,  and  the  event  has  sadly  confirmed  his  anticipa- 
tions. . . . The  picturesque  bow-windowed  Rectory  rises 
to  memory  as  it  stood  with  all  its  doors  and  windows 
open  on  certain  hot  summer  days,  the  sloping  bank  with 
its  great  fir-tree,  the  garden  * — a gravel  sweep  before  the 
drawing-room  and  dining-rooms,  a grass-plat  before  the 
study,  hedged  off  from  the  walk  — and  the  tall,  active 
figure  of  the  Rector  tramping  up  and  down  one  or  the 
other.  His  energy  made  him  seem  everywhere,  and  to 
pervade  every  part  of  house  and  garden.  The  MS.  of 
the  book  he  was  writing  lay  open  on  a rough  standing 
desk,  which  was  merely  a shelf  projecting  from  the  wall ; 
his  pupil,  treated  like  his  own  son,  was  working  in  the 
dining-room  ; his  guests  perhaps  lounging  on  the  lawn, 
or  reading  in  the  study.  And  he  had  time  for  all,  going 
from  writing  to  lecturing  on  optics,  or  to  a passage  in 
Virgil ; from  this  to  a vehement  conversation  with  a 
guest,  or  tender  care  for  his  wife,  or  a romp  with  his 
children.  He  would  work  himself  into  a sort  of  white 
heat  over  his  book,  till,  too  excited  to  write  more,  he 
would  calm  himself  down  by  a pipe,  pacing  his  grass-plat 
in  thought  and  with  long  strides.  He  was  a great 
smoker,  and  tobacco  was  to  him  a needful  sedative.  He 
always  used  a long  and  clean  clay  pipe,  which  lurked 
in  all  sorts  of  unexpected  places.  But  none  was  ever 
smoked  which  was  in  any  degree  foul,  and  when  there 
was  a vast  accumulation  of  old  pipes,  they  were  sent 
back  again  to  the  kiln  to  be  rebaked,  and  returned  fresh 
and  new.  This  gave  him  a striking  simile,  which,  in 
‘ Alton  Ldcke,’  he  puts  into  the  mouth  of  James  Cross- 
thwaite.  ‘ Katie  here  believes  in  purgatory,  where  souls 
are  burnt  clean  again,  like  ’bacca  pipes.'  When  luncheon 
was  over,  and  any  arrears  of  the  morning’s  work  cleared 
up,  a walk  with  Kingsley  was  an  occasion  of  constant 


201 


Influence  on  Young  Men 

pleasure.  ...  I remember  standing  on  the  top  of  a hill 
with  him  when  the  autumn  evening  was  fading,  and  one 
of  the  sun’s  latest  rays  struck  a patch  on  the  moor,  bring- 
ing out  a very  peculiar  mixture  of  red-brown  colors. 
What  were  the  precise  plants  which  composed  that 
patch?  He  hurriedly  ran  over  the  list  of  what  he 
thought  they  were,  and  then  set  off  over  hedge  and  ditch, 
through  bog  and  water- course,  to  verify  the  list  he  had 
already  made.  During  these  afternoon  walks  he  would 
visit  one  or  another  of  his  very  scattered  hamlets  or 
single  cottages  on  the  heaths.  . . . Nothing  was  ever 
more  real  than  Kingsley’s  parish  visiting.  He  be- 
lieved absolutely  in  the  message  he  bore  to  the  poor, 
and  the  health  his  ministrations  conveyed  to  their 
souls,  but  he  was  at  the  same  time  a zealous  sani- 
tary reformer,  and  cared  for  their  bodies  also.  I was 
with  him  once  when  he  visited  a sick  man  suffering  from 
fever.  The  atmosphere  of  the  little  ground-floor  bed- 
room was  horrible,  but  before  the  Rector  said  a word  he 
ran  upstairs,  and,  to  the  great  astonishment  of  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  cottage,  bored,  with  a large  auger  he  had 
brought  with  him,  several  holes  above  the  bed’s  head  for 
ventilation.  His  reading  in  the  sick  room  and  his  words 
were  wholly  free  from  cant.  The  Psalms  and  the 
Prophets,  with  judicious  omissions,  seemed  to  gain  new 
meaning  as  he  read  them,  and  his  after-words  were  always 
cheerful  and  hopeful.  Sickness,  in  his  eyes,  seemed  always 
to  sanctify  and  purify.  He  would  say,  with  the  utmost 
modesty,  that  the  patient  endurance  of  the  poor  taught 
him,  day  by  day,  lessons  which  he  took  back  again  as  God’s 
message  to  the  bed-side  from  which  he  had  learnt  them. 

“ One  great  element  of  success  in  his  intercourse  with 
his  parishioners  was  his  abounding  humor  and  fun. 
What  caused  a hearty  /laugh  was  a real  refreshment  to 
him,  and  he  had  the  strongest  belief  that  laughter  and 
humor  were  elements  in  the  nature  of  God  Himself. 
This  abounding  humor  has  with  some  its  dangers.  Not 


202  Charles  Kingsley 

so  with  Kingsley.  No  man  loved  a good  story  better 
than  he,  but  there  was  always  in  what  he  told  or  what  he 
suffered  himself  to  hear,  a good  and  pure  moral  under- 
lying what  might  be  coarse  in  expression.  While  he 
would  laugh  with  the  keenest  sense  of  amusement  at 
what  might  be  simply  broad,  he  had  the  most  utter  scorn 
and  loathing  for  all  that  could  debase  and  degrade.  And 
he  was  the  most  reverent  of  men,  though  he  would  say 
things  which  seemed  daring  because  people  were  unac- 
customed to  hear  sacred  things  named  without  a pious 
snuffle.  This  great  reverence  led  him  to  be  even  unjust 
to  some  of  the  greatest  humorists.  I quoted  Heine  one 
day  at  his  table.  ‘ Who  was  Heine  ? ’ asked  his  little 
daughter.  ‘ A wicked  man,  my  dear,'  was  the  only 
answer  given  to  her,  and  an  implied  rebuke  to  me. 

“ A day  rises  vividly  to  memory,  when  Kingsley  re- 
mained shut  up  in  the  study  during  the  afternoon,  the 
door  bolted,  inaccessible  to  all  interruption.  The  drowsy 
hour  had  come  on  between  the  lights,  when  it  was  time 
to  dress  for  dinner,  and  talk,  without  the  great  inspirer  of 
it,  was  growing  disjointed  and  fragmentary,  when  he  came 
in  from  the  study,  a paper,  yet  undried,  in  his  hand,  and 
read  us  the  ‘ Lay  of  the  Last  Buccaneer/  most  spirited 
of  all  his  ballads.  One  who  had  been  lying  back  in  an 
arm-chair,  known  for  its  seductive  properties  as  ‘sleepy 
hollow/  roused  up  then,  and  could  hardly  sleep  all  night 
for  the  inspiring  music  of  the  words  read  by  one  of  the 
very  best  readers  I have  ever  heard.  . . . 

“ Old  and  new  friends  came  and  went  as  he  grew  famous 
— not  too  strong  a word  for  the  feeling  of  those  days  — 
and  the  drawing-room  evening  conversations  and  readings, 
the  tobacco  parliaments  later  into  the  night,  included  many 
of  the  most  remarkable  persons  of  the  day.  ...  I know 
that  those  evening  talks  kept  more  than  one  who  shared 
in  them  from  Rome,  and  weaned  more  than  one  from 
vice,  while  others  had  doubts  to  faith  removed  which  had 
long  paralyzed  the  energy  of  their  lives.  . . .” 


CHAPTER  VIII 


1850-1851 


Aged  31-32 


Resigns  the  Office  of  Clerk  in  Orders  at  Chelsea  — 
Pupil  Life  at  Eversley — Publication  of  “Alton 
Locke” — Letters  from  Mr.  Carlyle — Writes  for 
“Christian  Socialist”  — Troubled  State  of  the 
Country  — Burglaries  — The  Rectory  Attacked  — 
Heavy  Correspondence — Letters  on  the  Romish 
Question. 

“ A lynx-eyed  fiery  man,  with  the  spirit  of  an  old  knight  in 
him ; more  of  a hero  than  any  modern  I have  seen  for  a long 
time.  A singular  veracity  one  finds  in  him ; not  in  his  words 
alone,  which,  however,  I like  much  for  their  fine  rough  naivete  ; but 
in  his  actions,  judgments,  aims ; in  all  that  he  thinks,  and  does, 
and  says  — which  indeed  I have  observed  is  the  root  of  all  great- 
ness or  real  worth  in  human  creatures,  and  properly  the  first  (and 
also  the  rarest)  attribute  of  what  we  call  genius  among  men.” 


HE  year  1850  was  spent  at  home,  in  better 


health,  with  still  fuller  employment;  for 
in  addition  to  parish  and  writing,  he  had  the  work 
of  teaching  a private  pupil,  which  was  quite  new 
to  him.  Times  were  bad,  rates  were  high,  rate- 
payers discontented,  and  all  classes  felt  the  pres- 
sure. The  Rector  felt  it  also,  but  he  met  it  by 
giving  the  tenants  back  ten  per  cent,  on  their 
tithe  payments,  and  thus  at  once  and  for  ever  he 
won  their  confidence.  He  had,  since  his  car- 
riage, held  the  office  of  Clerk  in  Orders  in  his 
father’s  parish  of  St.  Luke’s,  Chelsea,  which 


T.  Carlyle,  on  Sir  Charles  Napier. 


204  Charles  Kingsley- 

added  considerably  to  bis  income,  and  m those 
days  was  not  considered  incompatible  with  non- 
residence; but  though  his  deputy  was  well  paid 
and  he  himself  occasionally  preached  and  lectured 
in  Chelsea,  he  had  long  regarded  the  post  as  a 
sinecure,  and  decided  to  resign  it.  The  loss  of 
income  must  however  be  met,  and  this  could  only 
be  done  by  his  pen.  It  was  a heavy  struggle  just 
then,  with  rector’s  poor’s  rates  at  ^150  per 
annum,  and  the  parish  charities  mainly  dependent 
on  him;  but  he  set  to  work  with  indomitable 
industry,  and  by  a gallant  effort  finished  “ Alton 
Locke.”  It  was  a busy  winter,  for  the  literary 
work  was  not  allowed  to  interfere  with  the  pupil 
work,  or  either  with  the  parish ; he  got  up  at  five 
every  morning,  and  wrote  till  breakfast;  after 
breakfast  he  worked  with  his  pupil  and  at  his 
sermons;  the  afternoons  were  devoted  as  usual 
to  cottage  visiting ; the  evenings  to  adult  school, 
and  superintending  the  fair  copy  of  Alton 
Locke  ” made  by  his  wife  for  the  press.  _ It  was 
the  only  book  of  which  he  ever  had  a fair  copy 
made.  His  habit  was  thoroughly  to  master  his 
subject,  whether  book  or  sermon,  out  in  the  open 
air,  either  in  his  garden,  on  the  moor,  or  by  the 
side  of  a lonely  trout  stream,  and  never  to  put  pen 
to  paper  till  the  ideas  were  clothed  in  words; 
after  which,  except  in  the  case  of  poetry,  he  sel- 
dom  altered  a word.  For  many  years  he  dictated 
every  composition  to  his  wife,  while  he  paced  up 
and  down  the  room. 

When  “Alton  Locke”  was  completed,  the 
difficulty  was  to  find  a publisher:  Messrs.  Parker, 
who  had,  or  thought  they  had,  suffered  m reputa- 
tion for  publishing  “Yeast”  in  the  pages  of 


Publication  of  “ Alton  Locke  99  205 

“ Fraser, ” and  “Politics  for  the  People,”  refused 
the  book;  and  Mr.  Carlyle  kindly  gave  him  an 
introduction  to  Messrs.  Chapman  & Hall,  who, 
on  his  recommendation,  undertook  to  bring  it 
out. 

“ I have  written  to  Chapman,  and  you  shall  have  his 
answer  on  Sunday.  . . . But  without  any  answer,  I be- 
lieve I may  already  assure  you  of  a respectful  welcome,  and 
the  new  novel  of  a careful  and  hopeful  examination  from 
the  man  of  books.  He  is  sworn  to  secrecy  too.  This  is 
all  the  needful  to-day,  — in  such  an  unspeakable  hurry  as 
this  present.  And  so,  right  glad  myself  to  hear  of  a new 
explosion,  or  salvo  of  red-hot  shot  against  the  Devil’s 
Dung-heap,  from  that  particular  battery.  . . . 

“ Yours  always  truly, 

“T.  Carlyle.” 

The  book  came  out  in  August,  and  was  noticed 
in  the  leading  journals  with  scorn  and  severity. 
The  best  artisans,  however,  hailed  it  as  a true 
picture  of  their  class  and  circumstances,  and 
thoughtful  men  and  women  of  the  higher  orders 
appreciated  its  value.  Mr.  Martineau  distin- 
guishes it  as  his  “noblest  and  most  characteristic 
book  — at  once  his  greatest  poem,  and  his  grand- 
est sermon,  though  containing,  as  it  may,  more 
faults,  sweeping  accusations,  hasty  conclusions, 
than  any  of  his  writings.” 

“ I am  quite  astonished,”  he  says  himself,  some  months 
later  in  writing  to  a friend,  “ at  the  steady-going,  respect- 
able people  who  approve  more  or  less  of  ‘ Alton  Locke.’  It 
was  but  the  other  night,  at  the  Speaker’s,  that  Sir  * * * * * 
considered  one  of  the  safest  Whig  traditionists  in  England, 
gave  in  his  adherence  to  the  book  in  the  kindest  terms. 
Both  the  Marshals  have  done  the  same  — so  has  Lord 


206  Charles  Kingsley 

Ashburton.  So  have,  strange  to  say,  more  than  one  ultra- 
respectable High-Tory  squire  — so  goes  the  world.  If 
you  do  anything  above  party,  the  true-hearted  ones  of  all 
parties  sympathize  with  you.  And  all  I want  to  do  is,  to 
awaken  the  good  men  of  all  opinions  to  the  necessity  of 
shaking  hands  and  laying  their  heads  together,  and  to 
look  for  the  day  when  the  bad  of  all  parties  will  get  their 
deserts,  which  they  will,  very  accurately,  before  Mr. 
Carlyle’s  friends,  4 The  Powers  ’ and  4 The  Destinies  ’ 
have  done  with  them.  . . .” 

The  following  is  Mr.  Carlyle's  verdict  on 
“ Alton  Locke  ” : 

Chelsea:  October  31  st,  1850. — 44  It  is  now  a great 
many  weeks  that  I have  been  your  debtor  for  a book 
which  in  various  senses  was  very  welcome  to  me.  4 Alton 
Locke  ? arrived  in  Annandale,  by  post,  from  my  wife,  early 
in  September,  and  was  swiftly  read  by  me,  under  the 
bright  sunshine,  by  the  sound  of  rushing  brooks  and 
other  rural  accompaniments.  I believe  the  book  is  still 
doing  duty  in  those  parts ; for  I had  to  leave  it  behind 
me  on  loan,  to  satisfy  the  public  demand.  Forgive  me, 
that  I have  not,  even  by  a word,  thanked  you  for  this 
favor.  Continual  shifting  and  moving  ever  since,  not 
under  the  best  omens,  has  hindered  me  from,  writing 
almost  on  any  subject  or  to  any  person. 

44  Apart  from  your  treatment  of  my  own  poor  self  (on 
which  subject  let  me  not  venture  to  speak  at  all),  I found 
plenty  to  like,  and  be  grateful  for  in  the  book  : abundance, 
nay  exuberance  of  generous  zeal ; headlong  impetuosity  of 
determination  towards  the  manful  side  on  all  manner  of 
questions ; snatches  of  excellent  poetic  description,  occa- 
sional sunbursts  of  noble  insight;  everywhere  a certain 
wild  intensity,  which  holds  the  reader  fast  as  by  a spell  : 
these  surely  are  good  qualities,  and  pregnant  omens  in  a 
man  of  your  seniority  in  the  regiment ! At  the  same 
time,  I am  bound  to  say,  the  book  is  definable  as  crude ; 


Letters  from  Carlyle  207 

by  no  manner  of  means  the  best  we  expect  of  you  — if 
you  will  resolutely  temper  your  fire.  But  to  make  the 
malt  sweet,  the  fire  should  and  must  be  slow : so  says  the 
proverb,  and  now,  as  before,  I include  all  duties  for  you 
under  that  one  ! ‘ Saunders  Mackaye,’  my  invaluable 
countryman  in  this  book,  is  nearly  perfect;  indeed  I 
greatly  wonder  how  you  did  contrive  to  manage  him  — 
his  very  dialect  is  as  if  a native  had  done  it,  and  the 
whole  existence  of  the  rugged  old  hero  is  a wonderfully 
splendid  and  coherent  piece  of  Scotch  bravura.  In  both 
of  your  women,  too,  I find  some  grand  poetic  features ; 
but  neither  of  them  is  worked  out  into  the  6 Daughter  of 
the  Sun/  she  might  have  been  ; indeed,  nothing  is  worked 
out  anywhere  in  comparison  with  ‘ Saunders ; ’ and  the 
impression  is  of  a fervid  creation  still  left  half  chaotic. 
That  is  my  literary  verdict,  both  the  black  of  it  and  the 
white. 

“ Of  the  grand  social  and  moral  questions  we  will  say 
nothing  whatever  at  present : any  time  within  the  next 
two  centuries,  it  is  like,  there  will  be  enough  to  say  about 
them  ! On  the  whole,  you  will  have  to  persist ; like  a 
cannon-ball  that  is  shot,  you  will  have  to  go  to  your 
mark,  whatever  that  be.  I stipulate  farther  that  you 
come  and  see  me  when  you  are  at  Chelsea ; and  that  you 
pay  no  attention  at  all  to  the  foolish  clamor  of  reviewers, 
whether  laudatory  or  condemnatory. 

“ Yours  with  true  wishes, 

“T,  CARLYLE.” 

The  writers  for  “ Politics  ” about  this  time 
brought  out  a series  of  tracts,  “On  Christian 
Socialism.”  Among  the  most  remarkable  was 
“Cheap  Clothes,  and  Nasty,  by  Parson  Lot,”1  ex- 
posing the  sweating  and  slop-selling  system, 
which  was  at  the  root  of  much  of  the  distress  in 
London  and  the  great  towns.  The  Tailors’  Asso- 

1 Republished  in  the  later  editions  of  “ Alton  Locke  *•* 


208  Charles  Kingsley 

ciation  was  already  formed,  and  a shop  opened  in 
Castle  Street,  to  which  the  publication  of  “ Cheap 
Clothes  ” took  many  customers.  The  opening 
sentences  of  this  tract  were : 

“ King  Ryence,  says  the  legend  of  King  Arthur,  wore  a 
paletot  trimmed  with  king’s  beards.  In  the  first  French 
Revolution  (so  Carlyle  assures  us)  there  were  at  Meudon 
tanneries  of  human  skins.  Mammon,  at  once  tyrant  and 
revolutionary,  follows  both  these  noble  examples — in  a more 
respectable  way,  doubtless,  for  Mammon  hates  cruelty ; 
bodily  pain  is  his  devil  — the  worst  evil  of  which  he,  in 
his  effeminacy,  can  conceive.  So  he  shrieks  benevo- 
lently when  a drunken  soldier  is  flogged ; but  he  trims  his 
paletots,  and  adorns  his  legs,  with  the  flesh  of  men  and 
the  skins  of  women,  with  degradation,  pestilence,  heathen- 
dom, and  despair ; and  then  chuckles,  self-complacently, 
over  the  smallness  of  his  tailor’s  bills.  Hypocrite  ! 
straining  at  a gnat  and  swallowing  a camel!  What  is 
flogging  or  hanging,  King  Ryence’s  paletot,  or  the  tan- 
neries of  Meudon,  to  the  slavery,  starvation,  waste  of  life, 
year-long  imprisonment  in  dungeons  narrower  and  fouler 
than  those  of  the  Inquisition,  which  goes  on  among 
thousands  of  English  clothes-makers  at  this  day?  . . . 
‘ The  man  is  mad,’  says  Mammon.  . . . Yes,  Mammon ; 
mad  as  Paul  before  Festus ; and  for  much  the  same 
reason  too.  Much  learning  has  made  us  mad.  From 
two  articles  in  the  Morning  Chronicle , on  the  Condition 
of  the  Working  Tailors,  we  learnt  too  much  to  leave  us 
altogether  masters  of  ourselves.  . . 

In  August  the  rectory  party  had  an  addition, 
a young  Cambridge  man,  arriving  for  three 
months  to  read  for  Holy  Orders.  It  was  a bold 
step  in  those  days  for  any  man  to  take,  to  read 
divinity  with  the  author  of  “ Yeast  ” and  “ Alton 
Locke/’  but  after  twenty-six  years’  ministry  in 


A Troubled  Country  209 

the  Church,  he  can  look  back  upon  it  without 
regret.  With  this  pupil  Mr.  Kingsley  read 
Strauss’s  “ Leben  Jesu;”  for  he  considered 
Strauss  then,  as  he  did  Comte  eighteen  years 
later,  the  great  false  prophet  of  the  day,  who  must 
be  faced  and  fought  against  by  the  clergy.  The 
circulation  of  Strauss’s  “ Life  of  Christ,”  which 
had  been  recently  translated  into  English,  and  the 
spread  of  infidel  opinions  among  the  working 
classes,  gave  him  grave  anxiety.  A new  penny 
periodical  was  projected  to  stem  the  torrent,  and 
he  writes  to  Mr.  Ludlow : 

“ If  you  will  join  me  in  a speculation  to  get  the  thing 
started,  I will  run  the  chance  of  pecuniary  loss,  and 
work  myself  to  the  bone  to  resuscitate  ‘ Politics  for  the 
People,’  in  a new  form.  . . . 

“Lees  and  I are  just  going  to  begin  Strauss,  and  I 
will  write  some  sort  of  answer  to  him,  if  God  gives  me 
grace.  . . . Oh  ! do  not  fancy  that  I am  not  perplexed  — 
‘ cast  down,  yet  not  in  despair/  — No  ; Christ  reigns,  as 
Luther  used  to  say,  Christ  reigns  — and  therefore  I will 
not  fear,  ‘ though  the  mountains  be  removed  (and  I with 
them)  and  cast  into  the  midst  of  the  sea/  . . .” 

“ . . . But  there  is  something  which  weighs  awfully  on 
my  mind, — the  first  number  of  Cooper’s  Journal,  which 
he  sent  me  the  other  day.  Here  is  a man  of  immense 
influence,  openly  preaching  Straussism  to  the  workmen, 
and  in  a fair,  honest,  manly  way,  which  must  tell.  Who 
will  answer  him  ? Who  will  answer  Strauss  ? Who  will 
denounce  Strauss  as  a vile  aristocrat,  robbing  the  poor 
man  of  his  Saviour  — of  the  ground  of  all  democracy,  all 
freedom,  all  association  — of  the  Charter  itself?  Oh  si 
niihi  centum  voces  et  ferrea  lingua . Think  about  that  — 
talk  to  Maurice  about  that.  To  me  it  is  awfully  pressing. 
If  the  priests  of  the  Lord  are  wanting  to  the  cause  now  ? 
— woe  to  us  ! . . . Don’t  fire  at  me  about  smoking.  I 
vol.  1.— 14 


210  Charles  Kingsley 

do  it,  because  it  does  me  good,  and  I could  not  (for  I 
have  tried  again  and  again)  do  without  it.  I smoke  the 
very  cheapest  tobacco.  In  the  meantime  I am  keeping 
no  horse  — a most  real  self-sacrifice  to  me.  But  if  I did, 
I should  have  so  much  the  less  to  give  to  the  poor.  God 
knows  all  about  that,  John  Ludlow,  and  about  other 
things  too.  ...  As  for  the  subjects  (for  the  periodical). 
It  seems  to  me  that,  to  spread  the  paper,  you  must  touch 
the  workman  at  all  his  points  of  interest.  First  and  fore- 
most at  Association ; but  also  at  political  rights  as 
grounded  both  on  the  Christian  idea  of  the  Church  and 
on  the  historic  facts  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race ; then 
National  Education,  Sanitary  and  Dwelling-house  Reform, 
the  Free  Sale  of  Land,  and  corresponding  Reform  of  the 
Land- Laws,  moral  improvement  of  the  Family  relation, 
public  places  of  Recreation  (on  which  point  I am  very 
earnest) $ and  I think  a set  of  hints  from  History,  and 
sayings  of  great  men,  of  which  last  1 have  been  picking 
up  from  Demosthenes,  Plato,  &c.  . . . 

“ . . . Boyne-water  day  to-day  ! ! ! glorious  day  — and 
what  Psalms  this  morning  (13th) ! Omen  accipio  lubens  J” 

“ . . . Your  letter  makes  me  very  sad.  I cannot  abide 
the  notion  of  Branch  Churches  or  Free  (Sect)  Churches. 
So  help  me  God,  unless  my  whole  train  of  thought  alters, 
I will  resist  the  temptation  as  coming  from  the  devil. 
Where  I am,  I am  doing  God’s  work,  and  when  the 
Church  is  ripe  for  more,  the  Head  of  the  Church  will  put 
the  means  in  our  way.  You  seem  to  fancy  that  we  have 
a 4 Deus  quidam  Deceptor  ’ over  us  after  all.  If  I did, 
I ’d  go  and  blow  my  dirty  brains  out,  and  be  rid  of  the 
whole  thing  at  once,  I would  indeed.  If  God,  when  people 
ask  Him  to  teach  and  guide  them,  does  not  — if,  when 
they  confess  themselves  rogues  and  fools  to  Him,  and 
beg  Him  to  make  them  honest  and  wise,  He  does  not,  but 
darkens  them  and  deludes  them  into  bogs  and  pitfalls  — 
is  He  a father?  You  fall  back  on  Judaism,  friend. 


21  I 


Burglaries 

"I  shall  write  a Labor  Conference  Tract  forthwith. 
As  for  hot  water  with  the  tailors  — tell  Cooper,  no  hot 
water,  no  tea.  ...  I had  rather  work  in  harness.  You 
tell  me  what  you  want  weekly,  and  you  shall  have  it ; else 
I shall  have  twenty  irons  in  the  fire  at  once,  and  none 
of  them  hot.  I tell  you,  you  or  some  one  must  act 
as  my  commanding  officer  in  this.  I have  too  much 
autocracy  already  to  be  bothered  with  autocracy  in  this 
too.  Either  I must  be  king  of  this  paper,  which  I can't 
and  would  n’t  be,  or  I must  be  an  under-strapper,  and 
set  the  example  of  obedience.” 

During  the  autumn  of  1850  the  state  of  the 
country  was  ominous.  In  his  own  parish  there 
was  still  low  fever,  and  a general  depression  pre- 
vailed. Work  was  slack,  and  as  winter  ap- 
proached gangs  of  housebreakers  and  men  who 
preferred  begging  and  robbery  to  the  workhouse, 
wandered  about  Hampshire,  Surrey,  and  Sussex. 
No  house  was  secure.  Mr.  Holiest,  the  rector  of 
Frimley,1  was  murdered  in  his  own  garden  while 
pursuing  burglars;  and  the  little  rectory  at 
Eversley,  which  had  never  hitherto  needed  pro- 
tection; and  had  scarcely  a strong  lock  on  its 
doors,  was  armed  with  bolts  and  bars,  fortunately 
before  it  too  was  attempted  by  the  same  gang. 
The  Rector  slept  with  loaded  pistols  by  his  bed- 
side, and  policemen  from  Winchester  watched  in 
and  about  the  quiet  garden  by  night.  The 
future  of  England  looked  dark,  and  he  writes  to 
Mr.  Maurice: 

“ My  dearest  Master,  — I hear  you  are  come  home. 
If  so,  for  God’s  sake  come  down  and  see  me,  if  but  for 
a day.  I have  more  doubts,  perplexities,  hopes,  and 

1 About  eight  miles  from  Eversley.  (M.  K.) 


2 1 2 Charles  Kingsley 

fears  to  pour  out  to  you  than  I could  utter  in  a week, 
and  to  the  rest  of  our  friends  I cannot  open.  You  com- 
prehend me ; you  are  bigger  than  I.  Come  down  and 
tell  me  what  to  think  and  do,  and  let  Fanny  as  well  as 
me,  have  the  delight  of  seeing  your  face  again.  I would 
come  to  you,  but  I have  two  pupils,  and  business  besides, 
and  also  don’t  know  when  and  how  to  catch  you.  The 
truth  is,  I feel  we  are  all  going  on  in  the  dark,  toward 
something  wonderful  and  awful,  but  whether  to  a preci- 
pice or  a paradise,  or  neither,  or  both,  I cannot  tell.  All 
my  old  roots  are  tearing  up  one  by  one,  and  though  I 
keep  a gallant  ‘ front  ’ before  the  Charlotte  Street  people 
(Council  of  Association),  little  they  know  of  the  struggles 
within  me,  the  laziness,  the  terror.  Pray  for  me  ; I could 
lie  down  and  cry  at  times.  A poor  fool  of  a fellow,  and 
yet  feeling  thrust  upon  all  sorts  of  great  and  unspeakable 
paths,  instead  of  being  left  in  peace  to  classify  butterflies 
and  catch  trout.  If  it  were  not  for  the  Psalms  and  Pro- 
phets, and  the  Gospels,  I should  turn  tail,  and  flee  shame- 
fully, giving  up  the  whole  question,  and  all  others,  as  cegri 
somnia .”  - 

“ Jeremiah  is  my  favorite  book  now.  It  has  taught  me 
more  than  tongue  can  tell.  But  I am  much  disheartened, 
and  am  minded  to  speak  no  more  words  in  this  name 
(Parson  Lot).  Yet  all  these  bullyings  teach  one,  correct 
one,  warn  one,  show  one  that  God  is  not  leaving  one  to 
go  one’s  own  way.  ‘Christ  reigns,’  quoth  Luther.” 

To  J.  Lees,  Esq.  : December  4.  — “ . . . We  have  com- 
menced night  schools,  and  a weekly  lecture  on  English 
history,  which  I started  last  night  with  twenty  hearers,  on 
the  Saxon  conquest,  and  I hope  made  the  agricultural 
eyes  open  once  or  twice,  by  showing 'that  they  did  not 
grow  out  of  the  earth  originally,  like  beetles,  but  came 
from  somewhere  else,  and  might  probably  have  to  go 
somewhere  else,  and  make  room  for  their  betters,  if  they 


Heavy  Correspondence  2 1 3 

continued  so  like  beetles,  human  manure-carriers,  and 
hole-grubbers,  much  longer.  The  weather  has  been  try- 
ing its  hand  at  everything.  Frantic  gales,  frantic  frosts, 
now  frantic  mists.  I go  to  Bramshill  cottage  lecture  to- 
night, and  expect  to  finish  in  a ditch  — but  this  rain  has 
made  it  soft  lying,  so  that  is  of  no  consequence.  The 
Doctor  is,  as  you  may  suppose,  Wiseman-foolish ; so,  for 
that  matter,  are  his  betters.  The  dear  ‘ Times  9 is  making 
strong  play  on  the  papal  aggressions ; and  on  the  whole 
the  fool-crop  seems  as  good  this  year  as  last.  The 
1 Christian  Socialist ’ sells  about  1500,  and  is  spreading; 
but  not  having  been  yet  cursed  by  any  periodical,  I fear 
it  is  doing  no  good.  Pray  let  us  hear  from  you  again. 
You  will  see  a letter  of  mine  in  last  week’s  ‘ Spectator,’ 
‘ Evidence  against  the  Universities.’  Don’t  say  who  wrote 
it : I have  quite  enough  dogs  barking  at  me  already.  . . . 
I wish  I was  in  bed,  which,  after  all,  is  the  only  place  of 
rest  on  earth  for  a parson.  ...” 

His  correspondence  increased  year  by  year,  as 
each  fresh  book  touched  and  stirred  fresh  hearts. 
Officers,  both  in  the  army  and  navy  — all  stran- 
gers — would  write;  one  to  ask  his  opinion  about 
duelling;  another  to  beg  him  to  recommend  or 
write  a rational  form  of  family  prayer  for  camp  or 
hut;  another  for  suitable  prayers  to  be  used  on 
board  ship  in  her  Majesty’s  navy;  others  on  more 
delicate  social  points  of  conscience  and  conduct, 
which  the  writers  would  confide  to  no  other  clergy- 
man; and  all  to  thank  him  for  his  books.  The 
sceptic  dared  tell  him  of  his  doubts;  the  profligate 
of  his  fall ; young  men  brought  up  to  go  into  Holy 
Orders,  but  filled  with  misgivings  about  the  Arti- 
cles, the  Creeds,  and,  more  than  all,  the  question 
of  endless  punishment,  would  pour  out  all  their 
difficulties  to  him;  and  many  a noble  spirit  now 


214  Charles  Kingsley 

working  in  the  Church  of  England  would  never 
have  taken  orders  but  for  Charles  Kingsley. 

To  this,  Mr.  Boyle,  Vicar  of  Kidderminster, 
alludes,  in  speaking  of  “some  inestimable  letters, 
on  orders,”  and  the  duties  of  clergymen,  which 
were  lent  and  lost. 

“ Some  years  later,”  he  adds,  “ I ventured  to  recall 
myself  to  him  in  a time  of  great  perplexity,  as  to  inspira- 
tion and  the  work  of  the  ministry,  and  no  casuist  could 
ever  have  entered  into  the  doubts  and  difficulties  of  one 
anxious  to  work  and  yet  shrinking  from  unfaith,  more 
lovingly  than  he  did.  It  has  always  been  to  me  a very 
deep  regret  that  we  met  so  seldom,  for  I felt  what  J.  C. 
Hare  says  somewhere  of  Arnold,  that  to  talk  with  him 
was  like  stepping  out  of  the  odors  of  an  Italian  Church 
to  the  air  and  breath  of  a heathery  moor.  One  sentence 
in  one  letter  is  graven  on  my  mind.  ‘You  dislike  the 
tone  of  officiality  of  the  clergy  now.  When  you  have 
been  eighteen  years  in  orders  you  will  detest  it.  But  is 
that  a reason  for  skulking  from  the  war  which  all  men 
should  wage,  but  which  Christ’s  servants  can  do  better 
than  others?  It  is  a comfort  often  to  feel  there  is  one 
little  spot,  the  parish,  to  which  one’s  thoughts  and 
prayers  are  for  ever  turning.,  ...” 

In  the  religious  world  the  Anglican  question 
occupied  one  large  section  of  the  Church,  and  the 
tide  set  Romewards.  Clergymen  wrote  to  ask 
him  to  advise  them  how  to  save  members  of  their 
flock  from  Popery;  mothers  to  beg  him  to  try 
and  rescue  their  daughters  from  the  influence  of 
Protestant  confessors;  while  women  hovering 
between  Rome  and  Anglicanism,  between  the 
attractions  of  a nunnery  and  the  monotonous 
duties  of  family  life,  laid  their  difficulties  before 
the  author  of  the  “ Saint’s  Tragedy;”  and  he  who 


The  Romish  Question  215 

shrank  on  principle  from  the  office  of  father- 
confessor  had  the  work  thrust  upon  him  by  num- 
bers whom  he  dared  not  refuse  to  help,  but  whom 
he  never  met  face  to  face  in  this  world. 

The  labor  was  severe  to  one  who  felt  the  re- 
sponsibility of  giving  counsel,  as  intensely  as  he 
did ; and  those  only  who  saw  the  mass  of  letters 
on  his  study  table  knew  what  the  weight  of  such 
a correspondence  must  be  to  a man  of  his  powerful 
sympathies,  who  had  in  addition  sermons  to  pre- 
pare, books  to  write,  a parish  to  work,  and  a 
pupil  to  teach.  But  his  iron  energy,  coupled  with 
a deep  conscientiousness,  enabled  him  to  get 
through  it.  “One  more  thing  done,”  he  would 
say,  “thank  God,”  as  each  letter  was  written, 
each  chapter  of  a book  or  page  of  a sermon  dic- 
tated to  his  wife;  “and  oh!  how  blessed  it  will 
be  when  it  is  all  over,  to  lie  down  together  in  that 
dear  churchyard.  ” 

The  following  extracts  from  some  letters  to  a 
country  rector,  personally  unknown  to  him,  who 
wrote  to  consult  him  about  social  politics  and  the 
Romish  question,  are  placed  together,  though 
written  at  intervals: 

Eversley  : January  13,  1851.  — “I  will  answer  your 
most  interesting  letter  as  shortly  as  I can,  and,  if  possible, 
in  the  same  spirit  of  honesty  as  that  in  which  you  have 
written  to  me.  1st.  I do  not  think  the  cry  ‘get  on/ 
to  be  anything  but  a devil’s  cry.  The  moral  of  my 
book  [‘  Alton  Locke  ’]  is,  that  the  working  man  who 
tries  to  get  on,  to  desert  his  class  and  rise  above  it, 
enters  into  a lie,  and  leaves  God’s  path  for  his  own  — 
with  consequences. 

“ 2nd.  I believe  that  a man  might  be,  as  a tailor  or  a 
costermonger,  every  inch  of  him  a saint  and  scholar,  and 


2 1 6 Charles  Kingsley 

a gentleman,  for  I have  seen  some  few  such  already.  I 
believe  hundreds  of  thousands  more  would  be  so,  if  their 
businesses  were  put  on  a Christian  footing,  and  them- 
selves given  by  education,  sanitary  reforms,  &c.,  the 
means  of  developing  their  own  latent  capabilities.  I 
think  the  cry,  4 rise  in  life/  has  been  excited  by  the  very 
increasing  impossibility  of  being  anything  but  brutes  while 
they  struggle  below.  I know  well  all  that  is  doing  in  the 
way  of  education,  &c.,  but  I do  assert  that  the  disease  of 
degradation  has  been  for  the  last  forty  years  increasing 
faster  than  the  remedy.  And  I believe,  from  experience, 
that  when  you  put  workmen  into  human  dwellings,  and 
give  them  a Christian  education,  so  far  from  wishing  dis- 
contentedly to  rise  out  of  their  class,  or  to  level  others  to 
it,  exactly  the  opposite  takes  place.  They  become  sen- 
sible of  the  dignity  of  work,  and  they  begin  to  see  their 
labor  as  a true  calling  in  God’s  church,  now  that  it  is 
cleared  from  the  accidentia  which  made  it  look  in  their 
eyes,  only  a soulless  drudgery  in  a devil’s  workshop  of  a 
world. 

“ 3rd.  From  the  advertisement  of  an  ‘ English  Repub- 
lic ? you  send,  I can  guess  who  will  be  the  writers  in  it, 
being  behind  the  scenes.  It  will  come  to  nought ; every- 
thing of  this  kind  is  coming  to  nought  now.  The  work- 
men are  tired  of  idols ; ready  and  yearning  for  the  church 
and  gospel.  . . . We  live  in  a great  crisis,  and  the  Lord 
requires  great  things  of  us.  The  fields  are  white  to  har- 
vest. Pray  ye,  therefore,  the  Lord  of  the  harvest  to  send 
forth  laborers. 

“4th.  As  to  the  capacities  of  working  men,  I am 
afraid  that  your  excellent  friend  will  find  that  he  has  only 
the  lefuse  of  working  intellects  to  form  his  induction  on. 
The  devil  has  got  the  best  long  ago.  By  the  neglect  of 
the  Church,  by  her  dealing  (like  the  Popish  church,  and 
all  weak  churches)  only  with  women,  children,  and  beg- 
gars, the  cream  and  pith  of  working  intellect  is  almost 
exclusively  self-educated,  and  therefore,  alas  ! infidel.  If 


The  Romish  Question  217 

he  goes  on  as  he  is  doing,  lecturing  on  history,  poetry, 
science,  and  all  things  which  the  workmen  crave  for,  and 
can  only  get  from  such  men  as  * * # and  * * * mixed 
up  with  Straussism  and  infidelity,  he  will  find  that  he 
will  draw  back  to  his  Lord’s  fold,  and  to  his  lecture- 
rooms,  slowly,  but  surely,  men  whose  powers  would 
astonish  him,  as  they  have  astonished  me. 

“ 5th.  The  workmen  whose  quarrels  you  mention,  are 
not  Christians,  or  socialists  either.  They  are  of  all  creeds 
and  none.  We  are  teaching  them  to  become  Christians 
by  teaching  them  gradually  that  true  socialism,  true  lib- 
erty, brotherhood,  and  true  equality  (not  the  carnal,  dead 
level  equality  of  the  communist,  but  the  spiritual  equality 
of  the  Church  idea,  which  gives  every  man  an  equal 
chance  of  developing  and  using  God’s  gifts,  and  rewards 
every  man  according  to  his  work,  without  respect  of  per- 
sons) is  only  to  be  found  in  loyalty  and  obedience  to 
Christ.  They  do  quarrel,  but  if  you  knew  how  they 
used  to  quarrel  before  association,  the  improvement  since 
would  astonish  you.  And  the  French  associations  do 
not  quarrel  at  all.  . . . 

“ 6th.  May  I,  in  reference  to  myself,  and  certain 
attacks  on  me,  say,  with  all  humility,  that  I do  not  speak 
from  hearsay  now,  as  has  been  asserted.  . . . From  my 
cradle,  as  the  son  of  an  active  clergyman,  I have  been 
brought  up  in  the  most  familiar  intercourse  with  the  poor 
in  town  and  country.  My  mother  is  a second  Mrs.  Fry, 
in  spirit  and  act.  For  fourteen  years  my  father  has  been 
the  rector  of  a very  large  metropolitan  parish  — and  I 
speak  what  I know,  and  testify  that  which  I have  seen. 
With  earnest  prayer,  in  fear  and  trembling,  I wrote  my 
book,  and  I trust  in  Him  to  whom  I prayed,  that  He  has 
not  left  me  to  my  own  prejudices  or  idols,  on  any  im- 
portant point  relating  to  the  state  of  the  possibilities  of 
the  poor  for  whom  He  died.  ...” 

January  26,  1851. — “ . . . In  * * and  in  all  that 
school,  there  is  an  element  of  foppery  — even  in  dress  and 


2i 8 Charles  Kingsley 

manner ; a fastidious,  maundering,  die-away  effeminacy, 
which  is  mistaken  for  purity  and  refinement ; and  I con- 
fess myself  unable  to  cope  with  it,  so  alluring  is  it  to  the 
minds  of  an  effeminate  and  luxurious  aristocracy ; neither 
educated  in  all  that  should  teach  them  to  distinguish 
between  bad  and  good  taste,  healthy  and  unhealthy  phil- 
osophy or  devotion.  I never  attempted  but  once  to 

rescue  a woman  out  of ’s  hands,  and  then  I failed 

utterly  and  completely.  I could  not  pamper  her  fancies 
as  he  could ; for  I could  not  bid  her  be  more  than  a 
woman,  but  only  to  be  a woman.  I could  not  promise 
a safe  and  easy  royal  road  to  lily  crowns,  and  palms  of 
virginity,  and  the  especial  coronet  of  saints.  I have 
nothing  especial  to  offer  anyone,  except  especial  sorrow 
and  trouble,  if  they  wish  to  try  to  do  especial  good.  I 
wish  for  no  reward,  no  blessing,  no  name,  no  grace,  but 
what  is  equally  the  heritage  of  potboys  and  navvies,  and 
which  they  can  realize  and  enjoy  just  as  deeply  as  I can, 
while  they  remain  potboys  and  navvies,  and  right  jolly 
ones  too.  Now  this  whole  school  (though  there  is  very 
much  noble  and  good  in  it,  and  they  have  re-called  men’s 
minds  — I am  sure  they  have  mine  — to  a great  deal  of 
catholic  and  apostolic  truth  which  we  are  now  forgetting) 
is  an  aristocratic  movement  in  the  fullest  and  most  carnal 
sense.  . . 

“.  . . This  road,  then,  as  a fact,  leads  Romewards. 
Now  do  you  wish  me  to  say  to  your  friend  what  I think? 
Do  you  wish  me  to  ask  her  the  questions  I must  ask,  or 
speak  no  word  to  her  ? . . . ‘ I want  proof  whether  you 
really  believe  in  God  the  Father,  God  the  Son,  and  God 
the  Holy  Spirit.  If  you  do  not  — if  you  only  believe  in 
believing  in  them , if  you  believe  that  they  are  present  only 
in  some  Church  or  system ; or  ought  to  be  present  there, 
and  may  be  put  back  again  there,  by  art  and  man’s 
device,  by  more  rigid  creeds,  and  formulae,  more  church- 
goings,  more  mediaeval  architecture,  more  outward  cere- 
monies, or  more  private  prayers,  &c.,  &c.,  and  religious 


The  Romish  Question  219 

acts  of  the  members  : if  you  believe  that  God  used  to 
guide  the  world,  or  one  nation  of  it,  in  the  Jews’  time  : 
if  you  believe  that  God  takes  care  of  Episcopal  churches, 
and  the  devil  has  the  rest  of  the  world  to  himself:  if 
you  believe  that  God  takes  care  of  souls,  and  not  of 
bodies  also ; of  Churches,  and  not  of  States  also  * of 
ecclesiastical  events,  and  not  of  political  and  scientific 
ones  also  ; of  saints,  and  not  of  sinners  also  ; of  spiritual 
matters,  and  not  of  crops  and  trades  and  handicrafts 
also  — then  I cannot,  cannot  say  that  you  believe  in  the 
creeds  or  the  sacraments,  or  those  of  whose  Eternal 
being,  presence  and  power  they  witness.  Madam,’  I 
would  say,  ‘ if  you  really  believe  the  Lord’s  Prayer,  and 
the  Creed,  and  the  Sacraments,  and  the  witness  of  the 
Priesthood  : if  you  really  believe  that  you  have  a Father 
in  heaven,  in  any  real  sense  of  that  king  of  words, 
Father : if  you  believe  that  He  who  died  on  the  Cross 
for  you,  and  for  your  children,  and  for  the  whole  earth, 
is  really  now  King  and  Lord  of  the  Universe,  King  and 
Lord  of  England,  and  of  your  property,  and  of  your  body 
and  mind  and  spirit : if  you  really  believe  that  the  Holy 
Spirit  proceeds  from  Him  as  well  as  from  His  Father 
and  your  Father,  and  that  He  and  your  Father  are  One  : 
— why  should  you  go  to  Rome  ? Did  God  make  Rome 
and  not  England?  He  has  chosen  to  teach  Rome  one 
way  and  England  another.  He  has  chosen  to  make  you 
an  English  woman,  a member  of  the  Church  of  England, 
English  in  education,  character,  brain,  feelings,  duties: 
you  cannot  unmake  yourself.  You  are  already  a member 
of  that  Spiritual  One  body,  called  the  English  nation : 
you  cannot  make  yourself  anything  else.  A child  can- 
not choose  its  own  mother : the  fact  of  your  being  born 
in  a certain  faith  and  certain  circumstances,  ought  to  be 
to  you  a plain  proof,  if  you  believe  in  a Living  Father  at 
all,  that  that  faith  and  those  circumstances  are  the  ones 
by  which  He  means  to  teach  you,  in  which  you  are  to 
work.  You  may  answer,  What  if  I find  the  faith  is 


220  Charles  Kingsley 

wrong?  I answer,  prove  first  that  you  know  what  the 
faith  is  ! You  must  exhaust  the  meaning  of  the  Church 
of  England,  before  you  have  any  right  to  prefer  any  other 
church  to  it.  For  there  is  always  an  a priori  probability 
that  you  are  right  where  you  are,  because  God  has  put 
you  where  you  are.  But  I am  not  going  to  rest  the 
question  on  probabilities.  I only  ask  you  to  pause  for 
their  sake,  while  you  consider  whether  you  know  what 
the  Church  of  England  is,  what  God’s  education  of  Eng- 
land has  been,  and  whether  the  one  or  the  other  are  con- 
sistent with  each  other.  I say  they  are.  I say  that  the 
Church  of  England  is  wonderfully  and  mysteriously  fitted 
for  the  souls  of  a free  Norse-Saxon  race ; for  men  whose 
ancestors  fought  by  the  side  of  Odin,  over  whom  a de- 
scendant of  Odin  now  rules.  And  I say  that  the  ele- 
ment which  you  have  partially  introduced,  and  to  drown 
yourself  in  which  you  must  go  to  Rome,  is  a foreign  ele- 
ment, unsuited  to  Englishmen,  and  to  God’s  purposes 
with  England.  How  far  it  may  be  the  best  for  the 
Italian  or  Spanish  spirit  I cannot  judge.  I can  only 
believe  that  if  they  had  been  capable  of  anything  higher, 
God  would  have  given  them  something  higher.  And  if 
you  ask  me,  why  I think  we  are  capable  of  something 
higher,  I say,  because  the  highest  idea  of  man  is  to 
know  his  Father,  and  look  his  Father  in  the  face,  in  full 
assurance  of  faith  and  love ; and  that  out  of  that  springs 
all  manful  energy,  self-respect,  all  self-restraint,  all  that 
the  true  Englishman  has,  and  the  Greek  and  Spaniard 
have  not.  And  I say  this  is  what  that  inspired  dema- 
gogue, St.  James,  means  when  he  speaks  of  “the  perfect 
law  of  liberty.”  I say  that  this  Protestant  faith,  which 
teaches  every  man  to  look  God  in  the  face  for  himself, 
has  contributed  more  than  anything  else  to  develop  family 
life,  industry,  freedom  in  England,  Scotland,  and  Sweden  ; 
and  that  if  anyone  wishes  to  benefit  the  poor  whom  God 
has  committed  to  their  charge,  they  must  do  anything 
and  everything  rather  than  go  to  Rome — to  a creed 


The  Romish  Question  221 

which  by  substituting  the  Confessor  for  God,  begins  by 
enslaving  the  landlord’s  soul,  and  will  infallibly  teach  him 
to  enslave  the  souls  of  his  tenants,  make  them  more 
incapable  than  they  are  now,  of  independence,  self- 
respect,  self-restraint ; make  association  and  co-operation 
impossible  to  them,  by  substituting  a Virgin  Mary,  who 
is  to  nurse  them  like  infants,  for  a Father  in  whom  they 
are  men  and  brothers ; and  end  by  bringing  them  down 
to  the  level  of  the  Irish  or  Neapolitan  savage/ 

“ This  I would  say ; and  then  I would  say,  1 If  you  are 
dissatisfied  with  the  present  state  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land, so  am  I.  Stay  in  it,  then,  and  try  to  mend  it.  But 
let  your  emendations  be  consistent  with  the  idea  of  the 
part  which  is  yet  pure.  To  Romanize  the  Church  is  not 
to  reform  it.  To  unprotestantize  is  not  to  reform  it. 
Therefore  take  care  that  the  very  parts  in  the  Prayer 
Book  which  you  would  alter,  be  not  just  the  really  Cath- 
olic and  Apostolic  parts ; that  you  would  give,  without 
intending  it,  exactly  the  same  Sectarian  and  Manichsean 
tone  to  its  present  true  catholicity  which  the  Puritan 
party  would,  if  they  were  allowed  to  tamper  with  the 
Baptismal  or  Ordination  Service/  This  I would  say,  if 
God  gave  me  utterance  and  courage.  . . . 

“ Make  any  use  whatsoever  which  you  chose  of  this 
letter.  Mind,  my  dear  sir,  that  I have  been  here  put- 
ting the  arguments  themselves  in  strong  relief.  In 
what  words  it  might  be  right  to  embody  them,  would 
depend  upon  the  temper  and  peculiar  trials  and  advan- 
tages of  the  person  herself.” 

February  5. — “.  . . I am  convinced  of  one  thing 
more  and  more,  by  experience,  that  the  whole  question  is 
an  anthropological  one.  ‘ Define  a human  being/  ought 
to  be  the  first  query.  It  is  thence  that  the  point  of 
departure,  perhaps  unconsciously,  takes  place.  Perhaps 
I shall  not  bore  you,  if  I speak  a little  on  this  point.  I 
do  not  speak  from  book,  for  I have  no  great  faith  in 


222  Charles  Kingsley 

controversial  books  — they  never  go  to  the  hearts  of  the 
doctrines  or  those  who  hold  them.  ‘ Measure  for  Meas- 
ure ’ taught  me  more  than  oceans  of  anti-men  polemics 
could  have  done,  or  pro-men  either.  But,  to  tell  you 
the  truth  in  private,  I have  been  through  that  terrible 
question  of  ‘ Celibacy  versus  Marriage  5 once  already  in 
my  life.  And  from  what  I have  felt  about  it  in  myself, 
and  seen  others  feel,  I am  convinced  that  it  is  the  cardinal 
point.  If  you  leave  that  fortress  untaken,  your  other 
batteries  are  wasted.  It  is  to  religion,  what  the  Malthu- 
sian doctrine  is  to  political  economy  — the  crux  in  limine , 
your  views  of  which  must  logically  influence  your  views 
of  everything  afterwards. 

“Now  there  are  two  great  views  of  men.  One  as  a 
spirit  embodied  in  flesh  and  blood,  with  certain  relations, 
namely,  those  of  father,  child,  husband,  wife,  brother,  as 
necessary  properties  of  his  existence.  No  one  denies 
that  the  relations  of  father  and  child  are  necessary,  seeing 
that  man  is  the  son  of  man.  About  the  necessity  of 
the  others  there  is  a question  with  some ; but  not  with  the 
class  of  whom  I speak,  viz.,  the  many,  Christian  as  well 
as  heathen,  in  all  ages  and  countries.  To  them,  practi- 
cally, at  least,  all  the  relations  are  considered  as  standing 
on  the  same  basis,  viz.,  the  actual  constitution  which 
God  has  given  man,  and  the  necessity  of  continuing  his 
race. 

“ Those  of  them  who  are  spiritually  enlightened,  have 
learnt  to  believe  that  these  relations  to  man  are  the 
symbols  of  relations  to  God.  That  God  is  our  Father. 
That  Christ  is  the  husband  of  the  one  collective  and 
corporate  person,  called  the  Church.  That  we  are  brothers 
and  sisters,  in  as  far  as  we  are  children  of  the  same 
Heavenly  Father.  And,  finally,  that  these  human  rela- 
tions are  given  us  to  teach  us  their  divine  antitypes : and 
therefore  that  it  is  only  in  proportion  as  we  appreciate 
and  understand  the  types  that  we  can  understand  the 
antitypes.  They  deny  that  these  relations  are  carnal,  i.e.. 


The  Romish  Question  223 

animal,  in  essence.  They  say  that  they  are  peculiar 
to  the  human  race.  That  being  human,  they  are  spirit- 
ual, because  man  qua  man  is  not  an  animal,  but  a 
spirit  embodied  in  an  animal.  Therefore  they  more 
or  less  clearly  believe  these  relations  to  be  everlasting; 
because  man  is  immortal,  and  therefore  all  which 
pertains  to  his  spirit  (as  these  do)  is  immortal  also. 
How  these  relations  are  to  be  embodied  practically  in  the 
future  state,  they  do  not  know  : for  they  do  not  know 
how  they  themselves  are  to  be  embodied.  But  seeing 
that  these  relations  are  in  this  life  the  teachers  of  the 
highest  truths,  and  intimately  and  deeply  connected  with 
their  deepest  and  holiest  feelings  and  acts,  they  believe 
that  they  will  in  the  next  life  teach  them  still  more,  be 
still  more  connected  with  their  inmost  spirits,  and  there- 
fore have  a more  perfect  development  and  fulfilment, 
and  be  the  forms  of  a still  more  intimate  union  with  the 
beloved  objects,  whom  they  now  feel  and  know  to  be 
absolutely  parts  of  themselves.  This  I hold  to  be  the 
Creed  of  the  Bible,  both  of  the  Old  Testament  and  the 
New.  And  if  any  passages  in  the  New  Testament  seem 
to  militate  against  it,  I think  that  they  only  do  so  from 
our  reading  our  popular  Manichaeism  or  gnosticism  into 
them  ; or  from  our  not  seeing  that  the  Old  Testament 
doctrine  of  the  absolute  and  everlasting  humanity,  and 
therefore  sanctity,  of  these  relations  is  to  be  taken  for 
granted  in  the  New  Testament  as  an  acknowledged  sub- 
stratum to  all  further  teaching. 

“ The  second  class,  who  have  been  found  in  large 
numbers,  principally  among  the  upper  classes,  both 
among  Christians  and  heathens  at  various  eras  of  the 
world,  hold  an  entirely  different  anthropology.  In  their 
eyes  man  is  not  a spirit  necessarily  embodied  in,  and 
expressed  by  an  animal ; but  a spirit  accidentally  con- 
nected with,  and  burdened  by  an  animal.  The  animal 
part  of  them  only  is  supposed  to  be  human,  the  spiritual, 
angelic  or  diabolic,  as  the  case  may  be.  The  relations 


224  Charles  Kingsley 

of  life  are  supposed  to  be  properties  only  of  the  animal 
part,  or  rather  adjuncts  of  them.  The  ideal  of  man, 
therefore,  is  to  deny,  not  himself,  but  the  animal  part 
which  is  not  himself,  and  to  strive  after  a non-human  or 
angelic  state.  And  this  angelic  state  is  supposed,  of 
course,  to  be  single  and  self-sustained,  without  relations, 
except  to  God  alone ; a theory  grounded  first  on  the 
belief  of  the  Easterns  and  Alexandrians,  and  next,  on  the 
supposed  meaning  of  an  expression  of  our  Lord’s  in 
Mark  xii.  25.  Now  this  may  be  a true  anthropology, 
but  I object  to  it,  in  limine , that  it  denies  its  own  ground. 
If,  as  all  will  allow,  we  can  only  know  our  relations  to 
God  through  our  relations  to  each  other,  the  more  we 
abjure  and  despise  those  latter  relations,  the  less  we  shall 
know  of  the  former,  the  less  ground  we  shall  have  for 
believing  that  they  are  our  relations  to  God  ; and  therefore, 
in  practice,  the  less  we  shall  believe  that  they  are.  It  has 
been  said  that  to  be  alone  only  means  to  have  nothing 
between  us  and  heaven.  It  may  mean  that,  but  it  will 
also  mean  to  ignore  God  as  our  Father,  men  as  our 
brothers,  Christ  as  the  Bridegroom  of  the  Church. 

“ That  this  is  the  case  is  evident  from  history ; and 
history  is  a fair  test.  4 By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know 
them.’  A fair  test  of  doctrines,  though  not  of  individ- 
uals. Every  man  is  better  and  worse  than  his  creed. 
Even  the  most  heretical  are  happily  inconsistent  (as  I be- 
lieve, because  the  light  which  lighteth  every  man,  the 
eternal  idea  of  pure  humanity,  which  is  the  image  of  the 
Lord  God,  is  too  strong  for  them,  and  makes  their  acts 
more  right  — because  more  human  — than  their  theories). 
But  we  may  judge  of  the  truth  of  a doctrine  both  from 
its  fruits  in  the  general  faith  and  practice  of  an  age, 
and  from  its  manifestations  in  those  stronger  souls  who 
dare  carry  things  consistently  out  wherever  they  may  lead 
them. 

“ Now  this  anthropology  was  held  and  carried  out  by 
the  Neo-Platonists,  by  Plotinus,  Libanius,  Hypatia,  Isi- 


The  Romish  Question  225 

dore,  Proclus,  and  others,  and  we  know  whither  it  led 
them.  To  aristocratic  exclusiveness  ; to  absolute  hatred 
of  anything  which  looked  like  a gospel  for  the  merely 
human  masses  ; to  the  worship  of  the  pure  and  absolute 
intellect,  and  the  confusion  of  it  with  the  understanding  ; 
to  the  grossest  polytheism,  and  image  worship,  as  a 
means  of  supplying  that  void  which  they  themselves  had 
made,  by  trying  to  have  nothing  between  themselves  and 
heaven  ! To  theurgy,  and  all  such  sorts  of  spasmodic 
attempts  at  miracle-working,  in  order  to  give  themselves, 
when  they  had  thrown  away  the  evidence  and  teaching 
which  they  thought  gross  and  material,  some  sort  of  evi- 
dence and  teaching,  any  mere  signs  and  wonders  to  assure 
their  exhausted  faculties,  tired  of  fluttering  in  the  vacuum 
of  ‘ pure  devotion/  that  the  whole  was  not  a dream  ; and 
finally  — utter  skepticism.  I appeal  to  history  whether  my 
account  is  not  correct.  And  I appeal  also  to  history 
whether  exactly  the  same  phases,  in  exactly  the  same 
order,  but  with  far  more  fearful  power,  did  not  develop 
themselves  in  the  mediaeval  Church,  between  the  eleventh 
and  sixteenth  century,  ending  in  the  lie  of  lies  — the 
formulized  and  organized  skepticism  of  Jesuitry.  And  I 
do  assert,  that  the  cause  of  that  development  was  the 
same  in  both  — the  peculiar  anthropologic  theory  which 
made  an  angel  the  ideal  of  a man,  and  therefore  celi- 
bacy his  highest  state.  I only  ask  you  to  read  carefully 
the  life  of  St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  in  old  Surius,  and  you 
will,  as  I do,  love,  reverence,  and  all  but  adore  the  man ; 
but  you  will  see  that  all  which  made  him  unmanly, 
superstitious,  and  everything  which  we  abhor,  sprang 
evidently,  and  in  his  case  (being  a genius)  consciously, 
from  his  notion  of  what  a man  was,  and  what  he  ought  to 
be.  And  from  these  grounds  I venture  a prediction  or 
two.  God  knows  I have  seen  enough  of  all  this  to  see 
somewhat  at  least  where  it  leads.  For  several  years  of 
my  life  it  was  the  question  which  I felt  I must  either 
conquer  utterly  or  turn  papist  and  monk.  If  I give  you 

VOL.  I. — 15 


226  Charles  Kingsley 

some  little  light,  I can  assure  you  I bought  it  dear.  I, 
too,  have  held,  one  by  one,  every  doctrine  of  the  extreme 
High  Church  party,  and  faced  their  consequences. 

“ It  does  seem  to  me,  then,  that  if  that  party  persist  in 
their  adoption  of  the  Romish  and  Neo-Platonist  anthro- 
pology, they  must,  at  least  the  most  noble  spirits  of  them, 
follow  it  out  to  the  same  conclusions.  There  will  be  a 
lessening  sense  of  God  as  a Father  — or  of  that  word 
Father  meaning  anything  real  — till  we  shall  see,  as  we 
do  in  Romish  books  of  devotion,  and  in  Romish  practice, 
the  Fatherhood  of  God  utterly  forgotten,  and  the  prayer 
which  declares  it  turned  into  a parrot-like  charm  — as  if 
for  the  very  purpose  of  not  recollecting  its  blessed  news. 
And  in  proportion  as  their  own  feelings  towards  their 
children  become  less  sacred  in  their  eyes,  they  will  be 
less  inclined  to  impute  such  feelings  in  God  towards 
them ; they  will  not  be  able  to  conceive  forgiveness,  for- 
bearance, tender  patience  and  care  on  His  part,  and  will 
receive  the  spirit  of  bondage  again  unto  fear.  In  pro- 
portion as  they  think  their  relation  to  their  own  children 
is  not  an  absolute  and  eternal  one,  they  will  find  a diffi- 
culty in  conceiving  their  relation  to  God  to  be  so.  They 
will  conceive  it  possible  to  lose  the  blessing  even  of  the 
name  of  God’s  children.  They  will  resort  to  prayers  and 
terrors  to  recover  a lost  relationship  to  God,  which,  if 
their  own  children  employed  towards  them,  they  would 
consider  absurd  in  reason,  and  insulting  to  parental  love. 
Do  I say  they  will?  Alas  ! may  I not  say  they  do  so 
already  ? 

“ Then  there  will  be  an  increasing  confusion  about  our 
Blessed  Lord.  They  will,  thanks  be  to  His  Spirit,  and 
the  grace  of  the  sacraments,  which  are  never  in  vain,  still 
regard  Him  as  the  ideal  of  humanity.  But  they  will  only 
see  as  much  of  that  ideal  as  their  sense  of  the  term 
humanity  allows  them.  It  will  be,  therefore,  those  pas- 
sages of  our  Lord’s  life,  those  features  of  His  temporary 
stay  on  earth,  which  seem  most  angelic , or  non-human, 


The  Romish  Question  227 

which  will  be  most  prized.  In  all  in  which  He  approaches 
the  Romish  saint,  they  will  apprehend  and  appreciate 
Him.  But  they  will  not  appreciate  Him  as  the  Word 
who  said  to  Adam  and  Eve,  ‘ Increase  and  multiply  and 
replenish  the  earth ; ’ as  the  tutelary  God  of  the  patri- 
archs, with  their  rich  animal  life ; as  the  Lord  of  the 
marrying,  farming,  fighting  Jews,  with  their  intense  per- 
ception of  the  sanctity  of  family,  hereditary  and  national 
ties,  and  the  dependence  of  those  on  the  very  essence  of 
the  Lord  ; as  the  Lord  of  Cyrus  and  Nebuchadnezzar, 
the  Lord  of  all  the  nations  of  the  earth,  who  is  the 
example  and  the  sanction,  the  ideal  fulfiller,  not  merely 
of  the  devotee,  but  of  every  phase  of  humanity.  They 
will  less  and  less  appreciate  the  gospel  of  ‘ Husbands 
love  your  wives,  as  Christ  also  loved  the  Church,  and 
gave  Himself  for  it.*  Not  that  they  will  not  hold  the 
doctrine  of  the  Blessed  One  being  the  Bridegroom. 
But  having  forgotten  what  a bridegroom  means,  they  will 
not  shrink  with  horror  from  calling  Him  the  ‘ Bridegroom 
of  each  individual  soul  ’ — an  unscriptural  and  illogical 
doctrine  (I  will  not  use  the  words  which  I might  about 
it,  for  the  sake  of  His  name  which  it  involves)  — common 
to  mystics,  both  Romish  and  Puritan,  the  last  phase  of 
which  may  be  seen  in  Frank  Newman’s  Unitarian  book, 
4 The  soul,  her  sorrows  and  aspirations  ! ’ You  are  as 
well  aware  as  I,  that  the  soul  is  talked  of  as  a bride  — as 
feminine  by  nature,  whatever  be  the  sex  of  its  possessor. 
This  is  indeed  only  another  form  of  the  desire  to  be  an 
angel.  For  if  you  analyze  the  common  conception  of  an 
angel,  what  is  it,  as  the  pictures  consistently  enough 
represent  it,  but  a woman,  unsexed? 

“ But  in  the  mean  time,  there  will  be  revulsions  from 
the  passionate,  amatory  language  which  mystics  apply  to 
our  Lord,  as  irreverent,  if  not  worse.  There  will  be 
recollections  that  He  is  Lord  and  God.  The  distance 
between  His  angelic,  and  therefore  incomprehensible 
humanity,  and  the  poor,  simple,  struggling,  earth-bound 


228  Charles  Kingsley 

soul  of  the  worshipper,  already  painful  enough,  will  widen 
more  and  more,  till  He  becomes  the  tremendous  Judge 
of  Michael  Angelo’s  picture  — not  a God-man,  but  a 
God-angel  — terrible  thought  — ‘ Who  shall  propitiate 
Him  — the  saintly,  the  spotless,  the  impassible?  He 
would  feel  for  us  if  He  could  comprehend  us,  for  He 
loved  us  to  the  death ; but  how  can  He  comprehend  us, 
poor  mean  creatures  ? How  dare  we  tell  Him  the  mean- 
nesses we  hardly  dare  confess  to  ourselves  ? Oh  ! for 
some  tender  ear,  into  which  we  should  not  be  ashamed 
to  pour  our  tale.  One  like  us  in  all  things  — of  like 
passions  with  ourselves.  It  must  be  a woman.  We  so 
weak  and  woman-like  — we  who  call  our  souls  “ she,”  we 
dare  not  tell  man  — at  least  till  he  is  unsexed  by  celi- 
bacy ; for  even  the  priest  is  cold,  is  uncertain,  is  sinful 
like  ourselves.  Oh ! for  a virgin  mother,  in  whose  face 
we  should  never  see  anything  but  a pitying  smile ! 9 

“ c Go  to  the  blessed  Virgin,’  said  a Romish  priest,  to 
a lady  whom  I love  well.  c She,  you  know,  is  a woman, 
and  can  understand  all  a woman’s  feelings.’  Ah ! 
thought  I,  if  your  head  had  once  rested  on  a lover’s 
bosom,  and  your  heart  known  the  mighty  stay  of  a man’s 
affection,  you  would  have  learnt  to  go  now  in  your  sore 
need,  not  to  the  mother  but  to  the  Son  — not  to  the  in- 
dulgent virgin,  but  to  the  strong  man,  Christ  Jesus  — stern 
because  loving  — who  does  not  shrink  from  punishing, 
and  yet  does  it  as  a man  would  do  it,  ‘ mighty  to  save.’ 
“My  dear  sir,  there  is  the  course  which  that  party 
must  run  — to  Mariolatry ; and  the  noblest  and  tenderest 
hearts  of  them  will  plunge  most  deeply,  passionately,  and 
idolatrously  into  it.  Not  that  they  will  find  it  sufficient. 
They,  too,  will  have  to  eke  out  the  human  mediation 
which  the  soul  of  man  requires,  by  saints,  and  their  relics. 
They,  too,  will  find  accesses  of  blank  doubt!  . . . 
‘ Nothing  between  them  and  heaven.’  True ; but 
heaven  will  in  that  case  look  far,  far  off  at  times.  There 
must  be  ‘ signs,’  ‘ evidences,’  ‘ palpable  proofs  ’ of  some- 


The  Romish  Question  229 

thing  invisible  and  spiritual.  If  their  children,  their 
parents,  their  country  are  none  — perhaps  images  may 
be,  or  still  better,  miracles,  if  one  would  but  appear! 
‘ The  course  of  nature  does  not  testify  of  God.’  Then 
something  supernatural  may.  ‘ The  laws  of  nature  are 
not  the  pure  eternal  children  of  the  pure  eternal  Father.' 
‘ Oh  ! for  something  to  break  them  — to  show  that  there 
is  something  besides  ourselves,  and  our  own  handiwork, 
in  the  universe.’  ‘ Oh ! for  an  ecstatica,  a weeping 
image,  a bleeding  picture  ! ' . . . God  help  them  — and 


CHAPTER  IX 


1851 


Aged  32 


Letters  on  University  Reform  — Beginnings  of  “ Hypatia  ” 
— Personal  Tendencies  — Work  and  Recreation  — 
Teetotalism  — Opening  of  the  Great  Exhibition  — 
Influence  of  “Yeast”  — Lecture  on  Agriculture  — 
Occurrence  in  a London  Church  — Visit  to  Germany 
— Letter  from  Mr.  John  Martineau. 

“ He  has  outsoared  the  shadow  of  our  night, 

Envy  and  calumny  and  hate  and  pain 
Can  touch  him  not,  and  torture  not  again ; 

He  is  secure  ! and  now  can  never  mourn 
A heart  grown  cold,  a head  grown  gray  in  vain.” 


“We  should  be  wary  what  persecution  we  raise  against  the 
living  labors  of  public  men ; how  we  spill  the  seasoned  life  of 
man  preserved  and  stored  up  in  books ; since  we  see  a kind  of 
homicide  may  be  committed,  sometimes  a martyrdom.” 


HE  year  of  the  Great  Exhibition,  which  be- 


gan with  distress  and  discontent  in  Eng- 
land, and  ended  with  a Revolution  in  Paris,  was  a 
notable  one  in  the  life  of  Charles  Kingsley.  His 
parochial  work  was  only  varied  by  the  addition  of 
new  plans  of  draining  the  parish  at  the  points 
where  low  fever  had  prevailed.  He  occasionally 
attended  the  conferences  of  the  promoters  of 
association.  He  crossed  the  Channel  for  the  first 
time.  His  friendship  and  correspondence  with 


Shelley. 


Milton. 


On  University  Reform  231 

Frederika  Bremer,  the  Swedish  novelist,  and  with 
Miss  Mitford,  date  from  this  year.  “Yeast,  a 
Problem/’  was  reprinted  and  came  out  in  a volume 
anonymously.  “ Hypatia  ” was  begun  as  a serial 
in  “Fraser’s  Magazine.”  “Santa  Maura”  and 
several  shorter  poems  were  written.  He  contrib- 
uted to  the  “ Christian  Socialist  ” eight  papers  on 
“Bible  Politics,  or  God  justified  to  the  People,” 
four  on  the  “Frimley  Murder,”  three  entitled 
“The  Long  Game,”  a few  ballads  and  sonnets, 
and  the  story  of  “The  Nun’s  Pool,”  which  had 
been  rejected  in  1848  by  the  publishers  of  “Poli- 
tics.” He  preached  two  sermons  in  London,  one 
of  which  made  him  notorious.  He  carried  on  a 
correspondence  in  the  “Spectator,”  on  the  state 
of  the  Universities,  urging  the  necessity  of  a 
Commission,  &c.,  &c.,  which  made  him  many 
enemies  and  plunged  him  into  a fresh  sea  of  pri- 
vate letters. 

“As  to  the  temper  and  tone  of  what  I wrote/*  he 
writes,  to  a fellow  of  Trinity,  “ whereon  folks  are  fierce,  I 
have  nothing  to  say,  but  that,  if  half  my  theory  was  true, 
it  would  excuse  my  writing  passionately.  ...  I expected 
to  be  reviled.  . . . Only  I believe  an  old  superstition, 
that  things  are  either  right  or  wrong,  and  that  right  means 
what  God  commands,  and  loves,  and  blesses  ; and  wrong 
what  He  forbids  and  hates,  and  makes  a curse  and  a 
road  of  ruin  to  those  who  follow  it ; and  therefore  no 
language  is  too  strong  to  warn  men  from  the  road  to  ruin, 
because  you  cannot  tell  into  what  fearful  ‘ descensus 
Averni'  it  may  lead  them.  I had  a superstition  that  the 
universities  were  going  down  that  descent.  ...  I had 
hoped  that  some  here  and  there  would  listen  to  me.  I 
have  no  proof  that  none  will  not ; but  still,  if  such  men 
as  you  think  me  wrong,  I take  it  as  a sign  that  I have 


232  Charles  Kingsley 

tried  to  pick  green  fruit,  that  the  time  is  not  come,  and 
retire  to  chew  the  cud,  and  try  again  some  day,  when  I 
know  more  about  the  matter.  As  for  hard  words,  they 
neither  make  for  me  or  against  me.  There  never  was 
anyone  who  spoke  out  the  truth  yet  on  the  earth, 
who  was  not  called  a ‘ howling  idiot 5 for  his  pains  — at 
first.  . . . My  conclusion  is,  being  on  all  points  a 
‘ superstitious  man,’  that  God  does  not  choose  me  to 
meddle  in  this  matter,  being  not  wise  and  good  enough ; 
that  He  has  therefore  allowed  me  to  fall  into  a slight 
mistake  of  fact,  [as  to  the  influence  of  Strauss’s  books  at 
Cambridge,]  in  order  to  cripple  me,  and  that  therefore  I 
must  mind  other  work  for  the  present ; whereof  I have 
plenty.  . . 

TO  REV.  F.  D.  MAURICE 

Eversley  : January  16,  1851.  — “ A thousand  thanks 
for  all  your  advice  and  information,  which  encourages  me 
to  say  more.  I don’t  know  how  far  I shall  be  able  to 
write  much  for  the  6 Christian  Socialist.’  Don’t  fancy 
that  I am  either  lazy  or  afraid.  But,  if  I do  not  use  my 
pen  to  the  uttermost  in  earning  my  daily  bread,  I shall 
not  get  through  this  year.  I am  paying  off  the  loans 
which  I got  to  meet  the  expenses  of  repairing  and  fur- 
nishing ; but,  with  an  income  reduced  this  year  by  more 
than  ^200,  having  given  up,  thank  God,  that  sinecure 
clerkship,  and  having  had  to  return  ten  per  cent,  of  my 
tithes,  owing  to  the  agricultural  distress,  I have  also  this 
year,  for  the  first  time,  the  opportunity,  and  therefore 
the  necessity,  of  supporting  a good  school.  My  available 
income,  therefore,  is  less  than  ^400.  I cannot  reduce 
my  charities,  and  I am  driven  either  to  give  up  my 
curate,  or  to  write  ; and  either  of  these  alternatives,  with 
the  increased  parish  work,  for  I have  got  either  lectures 
or  night  school  every  night  in  the  week,  and  three  ser- 
vices on  Sunday,  will  demand  my  whole  time.  What  to 
do  unless  I get  pupils  I know  not.  Martineau  leaves  me 


Beginnings  of  “ Hypatia  ” 233 

in  June.  My  present  notion  is  to  write  a historical 
romance  of  the  beginning  of  the  fifth  century,  which  has 
been  breeding  in  my  head  this  two  years.  But  how  to 
find  time  I know  not.  And  if  there  is  a storm  brewing, 
of  course  I shall  have  to  help  to  fight  the  Philistines. 
Would  that  I had  wings  as  a dove,  then  would  I flee 
away  and  be  at  rest!  I have  written  this  selfish  and 
egotistical  letter  to  ask  for  your  counsel ; but  I do  not 
forget  that  you  have  your  own  troubles.  My  idea  in  the 
romance  is  to  set  forth  Christianity  as  the  only  really 
democratic  creed,  and  philosophy,  above  all,  spiritualism, 
as  the  most  exclusively  aristocratic  creed.  Such  has 
been  my  opinion  for  a long  time,  and  what  I have  been 
reading  lately  confirms  it  more  and  more.  Even  Synesius, 
‘ the  philosophic  * bishop,  is  an-  aristocrat  by  the  side  of 
Cyril.  It  seems  to  me  that  such  a book  might  do  good 
just  now,  while  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  Christian  and 
heathen,  are  saying,  6 This  people,  which  knoweth  not 
the  law,  is  accursed  ! * Of  English  subjects  I can  write 
no  more  just  now.  I have  exhausted  both  my  stock  and 
my  brain,  and  really  require  to  rest  it,  by  turning  it  to 
some  new  field,  in  which  there  is  richer  and  more  pictur- 
esque life,  and  the  elements  are  less  confused,  or  rather, 
may  be  handled  more  in  the  mass  than  English  ones 
now.  I have  long  wished  to  do  something  antique,  and 
get  out  my  thoughts  about  the  connection  of  the  old 
world  and  the  new ; Schiller’s  6 Gods  of  Greece 1 ex- 
presses, I think,  a tone  of  feeling  very  common,  and 
which  finds  its  vent  in  modern  Neo-Platonism  — Any- 
thingarianism.  But  if  you  think  I ought  not,  I will  not. 
I will  obey  your  order.” 

The  “ Christian  Socialist  ” movement  had  been 
severely  attacked  in  the  “ Edinburgh  ” and  in  the 
“ Quarterly  Reviews ; ” in  both  articles  Commu- 
nism and  Socialism  were  spoken  of  as  identical, 
and  the  author  of  “ Alton  Locke  ” was  pointed  at 


234  Charles  Kingsley 

as  the  chief  offender.  He  writes  to  Mr.  Brimley, 
of  Trinity : 

jplAiJs-  ^ H 

“ The  article  [in  the  ‘ Quarterly  ’]  I have  not  seen, 
and  don’t  intend  to.  There  is  no  use  for  a hot-tempered 
and  foul-mouthed  man  like  myself  praying  not  to  be  led 
into  temptation,  and  then  reading,  voluntarily,  attacks  on 
himself  from  the  firm  of  Wagg,  Wenham,  and  Co.  But 
if  you  think  I ought  to  answer  the  attack  formally,  pray 
tell  me  so. 

“ Hypatia  grows,  little  darling,  and  I am  getting  very 
fond  of  her ; but  the  period  is  very  dark,  folks  having 
been  given  to  lying  then,  as  well  as  now,  besides  being 
so  blind  as  not  to  see  the  meaning  of  their  own  time  (per- 
haps, though,  we  don’t  of  ours),  and  so  put  down,  not 
what  we  should  like  to  know,  but  what  they  liked  to 
remember.  Nevertheless  there  are  materials  for  a grand 
book.  And  if  I fail  in  it,  I may  as  well  give  up  writing — 
perhaps  the  best  thing  for  me ; though,  thanks  to  abuse- 
puffs,  my  books  sell  pretty  steadily 

“ Though  ” (says  Mr.  Hughes),  “ Charles  Kingsley 
faced  his  adversaries  bravely,  it  must  not  be  inferred  that 
he  did  not  feel  the  attacks  and  misrepresentations  very 
keenly.1  In  many  respects,  though  housed  in  a strong 
and  vigorous  body,  his  spirit  was  an  exceedingly  tender 
and  sensitive  one.  I have  often  thought  that  at  this  time 
his  very  sensitiveness  drove  him  to  say  things  more 
broadly  and  incisively,  because  he  was  speaking  as  it 
were  somewhat  against  the  grain,  and  knew  that  the  line 
he  was  taking  would  be  misunderstood,  and  would  dis- 
please and  alarm  those  with  whom  he  had  most  sympathy. 
For  he  was  by  nature  and  education  an  aristocrat  in  the 
best  sense  of  the  word,  believed  that  a landed  aristocracy 
was  a blessing  to  the  country,  and  that  no  country  would 
gain  the  highest  liberty  without  such  a class,  holding  its 

1 See  Margaret  to  Dolcino  and  Dolcino  to  Margaret  in 
Poems.  (M.  K.) 


Personal  Tendencies  235 

own  position  firmly,  but  in  sympathy  with  the  people. 
He  liked  their  habits  and  ways,  and  keenly  enjoyed  their 
society.  Again,  he  was  full  of  reverence  for  science  and 
scientific  men,  and  specially  for  political  economy  and 
economists,  and  desired  eagerly  to  stand  well  with  them. 
And  it  was  a most  bitter  trial  to  him  to  find  himself  not 
only  in  sharp  antagonism  with  traders  and  employers  of 
labor,  which  he  looked  for,  but  with  these  classes  also. 
On  the  other  hand,  many  of  the  views  and  habits  of 
those  with  whom  he  found  himself  associated  were  very 
distasteful  to  him.  In  a new  social  movement,  such  as 
that  of  association  as  it  took  shape  in  1849-50,  there  is 
certain  to  be  great  attraction  for  restless  and  eccentric 
persons,  and  in  point  of  fact  many  such  joined  it.  . . . 
‘ As  if  we  shall  not  be  abused  enough/  he  used  to  say, 
‘for  what  we  must  say  and  do,  without  being  saddled 
with  mischievous  nonsense  of  this  kind/  To  less  sen- 
sitive men  the  effect  of  eccentricity  upon  him  was  almost 
comic.  Many  of  the  workmen,  who  always  rise  to  the 
top  at  first,  who  were  most  prominent  in  the  Associa- 
tions were  almost  as  little  to  his  mind  — windy  inflated 
kind  of  persons,  with  a lot  of  fine  phrases  in  their  mouths 
which  they  did  n’t  know  the  meaning  of.  But  in  spite  of 
all  that  was  distasteful  to  him  in  some  of  its  surroundings, 
the  co-operative  movement  (as  it  is  now  called)  entirely 
approved  itself  to  his  conscience  and  judgment,  and 
mastered  him  so  that  he  was  ready  to  risk  whatever  had 
to  be  risked  in  fighting  its  battle.  Often  in  those  days, 
seeing  how  loth  Charles  Kingsley  was  to  take  in  hand 
much  of  the  work  which  Parson  Lot  had  to  do,  and  how 
fearlessly  and  thoroughly  he  did  it  after  all,  one  was 
reminded  of  the  old  Jewish  prophets,  such  as  Amos  the 
herdsman  of  Tekoa,  — ‘ I was  no  prophet,  neither  was  I 
a prophet’s  son ; but  I was  an  herdsman,  and  a gatherer 
of  sycamore  fruit : and  the  Lord  took  me  as  I followed 
the  flock,  and  said  unto  me,  Go,  prophesy  unto  my  people 
Israel/  ” 


236 


Charles  Kingsley 


TO  T.  HUGHES,  ESQ. 

“.  . . And  if  I had  ^100,000,  I’d  have,  and  should 
have  staked  and  lost  it  all  in  1848-50.  I should,  Tom, 
for  my  heart  was  and  is  in  it,  and  you  ’ll  see  it  will  beat 
yet.  Still,  some  somedever,  it  ’s  in  the  fates,  that  associ- 
ation is  the  pure  caseine,  and  must  be  eaten  by  the 
human  race  if  it  would  save  its  soul  alive.  ...  I ha /e 
had  a sorter  kinder  sample  day.  Up  at  five,  to  see  a 
dying  man ; ought  to  have  been  up  at  two,  but  Ben  King, 
the  rat-catcher,  who  came  to  call  me,  was  taken  ner- 
vous ! ! ! and  did  n’t  make  row  enough  ; was  from  5.30  to 
6.30  with  the  most  dreadful  case  of  agony  — insensible 
to  me,  but  not  to  his  pain.  Came  home,  got  a wash  and 
a pipe,  and  again  to  him  at  eight.  Found  him  insensible 
to  his  own  pain,  with  dilated  pupils,  dying  of  pressure 
of  the  brain  — going  any  moment.  Prayed  the  commen- 
datory prayers  over  him,  and  started  for  the  river  with  W. 
Fished  all  the  morning  in  a roaring  N.E.  gale,  with  the 
dreadful  agonized  face  between  me  and  the  river,  ponder- 
ing on  The  mystery.  Killed  eight  on  ‘ March  brown/  a 
6 governor/  by  drowning  the  flies,  and  taking  ’em  out 
gently  to  see  if  aught  was  there,  which  is  the  only  dodge 
in  a north-easter.  ’Cause  why?  The  water  is  warmer 
than  the  air  — ergo,  fishes  don’t  like  to  put  their  noses 
out  o’  doors,  and  feeds  at  home  down  stairs.  It  is  the 
only  wrinkle,  Tom.  The  captain  fished  a-top,  and  caught 
but  three  all  day.  They  were  n’t  going  to  catch  a cold 
in  their  heads  to  please  him  or  any  man.  Clouds  burn 
up  at  1 p.m.  I put  on  a minnow,  and  kill  three  more ; 
I should  have  had  lots,  but  for  the  image  of  the  dirty 
hickory  stick,  which  would  4 walk  the  waters  like  a thing 
of  life,’  just  ahead  of  my  minnow.  Mem.  never  fish  with 
the  sun  in  your  back ; it ’s  bad  enough  with  a fly,  but 
with  a minnow  it ’s  strychnine  and  prussic  acid.  My 
eleven  weighed  together  four  and  a-half  pounds,  three  to 
the  pound ; not  good,  considering  I had  passed  many  a 


Work  and  Recreation  237 

two  pound  fish,  I know.  Corollary.  — Brass  minnow  don’t 
suit  the  water.  Where  is  your  wonderful  minnow?  Send 
me  one  down,  or  else  a horn  one,  which  I believes  in 
desperate.  One  pounder  I caught  to-day  on  the  ‘ March 
brown,’  womited  his  wittles,  which  was  rude,  but  instruct- 
ive ; and  among  worms  was  a gudgeon  three  inches  long 
and  more.  Blow  minnows  — gudgeon  is  the  thing. 
Came  off  the  water  at  three.  Found  my  man  alive,  and, 
thank  God,  quiet.  Sat  with  him,  and  thought  him  going 
once  or  twice.  What  a mystery  that  long,  insensible 
death  struggle  is ! . . . Then  had  to  go  to  Hartley  Row 
for  an  Archdeacon’s  Sunday-school  meeting  — three 
hours  speechifying.  Got  back  at  10.30,  and  sit  writing  to 
you.  So  goes  one’s  day.  All  manner  of  incongruous 
things  to  do,  and  the  very  incongruity  keeps  one  beany 
and  jolly.  Your  letter  was  delightful.  I read  part  of  it 
to  W.,  who  says  you  are  the  best  fellow  on  earth,  to 
which  I agree.  So  no  more  from  your  sleepy  and  tired, 

“ C.  Kingsley.” 

TO  HIS  WIFE 

Eversley  Rectory  : Whit  Monday . — “ A most  suc- 

cessful Club  Day.  Weather  glorious  — roasting  hot. 
Preached  them  a sermon  on  the  2nd  Lesson  (1  Cor.  xii.), 
the  Church  of  the  World.  World  as  the  selfish  competi- 
tive isolating  form  of  society  — Church  as  the  uniting 
one.  . . . Spoke  of  the  Millennium  and  the  realization  of 
the  Kingdom  of  God  — showed  the  intimate  connection 
of  the  whole  with  Whitsuntide,  and  especially  the  Whit 
Monday  services,  and  was  greeted  after  church  by  the 
band  striking  up  ‘the  good  time  coming.’  I know  noth- 
ing which  has  pleased  me  so  much  for  a long  time.  The 
singing  was  excellent,  and  altogether  all  went  charmingly. 
We  dine  with  them  by  request.” 

Whit  Tuesday . “ I have  been  planting  vigorously. 

This  glorious  heat  makes  me  lively  and  happy  in  the 
body  in  spite  of  myself ; but  if  a chill  whiff  of  a cloud 


238  Charles  Kingsley 

comes,  I feel  all  alone  at  once  — a crab  without  his  shell, 
a cock  without  his  tail,  a dog-fish  with  a nail  through  his 
nose  — all  are  nothing  in  want  and  helplessness  to  my 
feelings.  Kiss  the  darlings  for  me.  Thank  God  only 
five  days  more  alone,  please  God  ! please  God ! 

“ Friday . Such  a ducking  ! such  a storm  ! I am  glad 
you  were  not  at  home  for  that  only.  We  were  up  fishing 
on  the  great  lake  at  Bramshill : the  morning  soft,  rich, 
and  lowering,  with  a low,  falling  glass.  I have  been  pro- 
phesying thunder  for  two  or  three  days.  Perch  would 
not  bite.  I went  to  see  E.  H. ; and  read  and  prayed 
with  her.  How  one  gets  to  love  consumptive  patients. 
She  seems  in  a most  happy,  holy  state  of  mind.  Then  I 
went  on  to  L.  G. ; sat  a long  time  with  her,  and  came 
back  to  the  lake  — day  burning,  or  rather  melting,  the 
country  looking  glorious.  The  day  as  hot  without  sun, 
as  it  generally  is  with.  There  appeared  a black  storm 
over  Reading.  I found  J.  had  hooked  a huge  jack,  which 
broke  everything  in  a moment,  and  went  off  with  all  his 
spinning  tackle.  Then  the  storm  began  to  work  round  in 
that  mysterious  way  storms  will,  and  gather  from  every 
quarter,  and  the  wind  which  had  been  dead  calm  S.  E., 
blew  N.  E.,  N.,  W.,  and  lastly,  as  it  is  doing  now,  and  always 
does  after  these  explosions,  S.  W.  And  then  began  such 
a sight,  and  we  on  the  island  in  the  middle  of  the  great 
lake  ! The  lightning  was  close,  and  seemed  to  strike  the 
ground  near  Sandhurst  again  and  again,  and  the  crackle 
and  roar  and  spit  and  grumble  over  our  heads  was 
awful.  I have  not  been  in  such  a storm  for  four  years. 
. . . We  walked  home  after  an  hour’s  ducking.  I am 
not  ashamed  to  say  that  I prayed  a great  deal  during  the 
storm,  for  we  were  in  a very  dangerous  place  in  an  island 
under  high  trees ; and  it  seemed  dreadful  never  to  see 
you  again.  I count  the  hours  till  Monday.  Tell  the 
chicks  I fcJund  a real  wild  duck’s  nest  on  the  island,  full 
of  eggs,  and  have  brought  one  home  to  hatch  it  under 
a hen!  We  dined  out  last  night,  and  after  dinner  went 


The  Great  Exhibition  239 

bird's  nesting  in  the  garden,  and  found  plenty.  Tell  Rose 
a bullfinch’s,  with  eggs,  and  a chaffinch’s,  and  an  oxeye’s, 
and  a thrush’s,  and  a greenfinch’s ; and  then  B.  and  I 
climbed  to  the  top  of  the  highest  fir-tree  there,  to  hang 
our  hats  on  the  top.” 

The  opening  of  the  Great  Exhibition  was  a 
matter  of  deep  interest  to  him,  not  only  for  its 
own  sake,  but  for  that  of  the  great  Prince  who 
was  the  prime  mover  in  the  undertaking.  On 
entering  the  building  he  was  moved  to  tears;  to 
him  it  was  like  going  into  a sacred  place,  not  a 
mere  show  as  so  many  felt  it,  and  still  less  a 
gigantic  shop,  in  which  wares  were  displayed  for 
the  sake  of  selfish  trade  competition.  The 
science,  the  art,  the  noble  ideas  of  universal 
peace,  universal  brotherhood  it  was  meant  to 
shadow  forth  and  encourage,  excited  him  intensely ; 
while  the  feeling  that  the  realization  of  these 
great  and  noble  ideas  was  as  yet  so  far  off,  and 
that  these  achievements  of  physical  science  were 
mere  forecastings  of  a great  but  distant  future, 
saddened  him  as  profoundly.  Four  days  after  the 
opening,  in  preaching  at  St.  Margaret’s,  West- 
minster, on  Psalm  lxviii.  1 8 : “ When  He  ascended 
up  on  high , He  led  captivity  captive , and  received 
gifts  for  men , j yea>  even  for  His  enemies , that  the 
Lord  God  might  dwell  among  themf  he  startled 
his  hearers  by  contrasting  the  widespread  unbe- 
lief of  the  present  day,  in  God  as  the  Fount  of 
all  science,  all  art,  all  the  intelligence  of  the 
nation,  with  the  simple  faith  of  our  forefathers. 

“ If,”  he  said,  “ a thousand  years  ago  a congregation  in 
this  place  had  been  addressed  upon  the  text  I have  chosen, 
they  would  have  had  little  difficulty  in  applying  its  mean* 


240  Charles  Kingsley 

in g to  themselves,  and  in  mentioning  at  once  the  innu- 
merable instances  of  those  gifts  which  the  King  of  men 
had  received  for  men,  innumerable  signs  that  the  Lord 
God  was  really  dwelling  among  them.  But  among  those 
signs,  I think,  they  would  have  mentioned  several  which 
we  are  not  now  generally  accustomed  to  consider  in  such 
a light.  They  would  have  pointed  not  merely  to  the 
building  of  churches,  the  founding  of  schools,  the  spread 
of  peace,  the  decay  of  slavery,  but  to  the  importation  of 
foreign  literature,  the  extension  of  the  arts  of  reading, 
writing,  painting,  architecture,  the  improvement  of  agri- 
culture, and  the  introduction  of  new  and  more  successful 
methods  for  the  cure  of  diseases.1  ...  If  these  fore- 
fathers of  ours  could  rise  from  their  graves  this  day  they 
would  be  inclined  to  see  in  our  hospitals,  in  our  railroads, 
in  the  achievements  of  our  physical  science,  confirmation 
of  that  old  superstition  of  theirs,  proofs  of  the  kingdom  of 
God,  realizations  of  the  gifts  which  Christ  received  for 
men,  vaster  than  any  of  which  they  had  dreamed.  . . . 
And  they  would  say  sadly  to  us,  ‘ Sons,  you  ought  to  be 
so  near  to  God.  He  seems  to  have  given  you  so  much, 
and  to  have  worked  among  you  as  He  never  worked  for 
any  nation  under  heaven.  How  is  it  that  you  give  the 
glory  to  yourselves  and  not  to  Him/  . . . For  do  we  give 
the  glory  of  our  great  scientific  discoveries  to  God  in  any 
real,  honest,  practical  sense?  . . . True,  we  keep  up 
something  of  the  form  and  tradition  of  the  old  talk  about 
such  things ; we  join  in  prayer  to  God  to  bless  our  Great 
Exhibition  ; but  we  do  not  believe  — we  do  not  believe, 
my  friends  — that  it  was  God  who  taught  men  to  con- 
ceive, build,  and  arrange  this  great  exhibition.  And  this, 
in  spite  of  words  which  were  spoken  by  one  whose  office 
it  was  to  speak  them  as  the  representative  of  the  highest 
and  most  sacred  personage  in  these  realms  — words  which 
deserve  to  be  written  in  letters  of  gold  on  the  high  places 

1 The  sermon  was  for  the  Westminster  Hospital.  (National 
Sermons.) 


Teetotalism 


241 

of  this  city,  in  which  he  spoke  of  this  exhibition  4 as  an 
approach  to  a more  complete  fulfilment  of  the  great  and 
sacred  mission  which  man  has  to  perform  in  the  world/  1 
and  that 4 man’s  reason  being  created  in  the  image  of  God, 
he  has  to  discover  the  laws  by  which  Almighty  God  gov- 
erns this  creation  ; and  by  making  those  laws  the  standard 
of  his  action,  to  conquer  nature  to  his  use,  himself  a di- 
vine instrument ; — ’ when  he  spoke  of  4 thankfulness  to 
Almighty  God  for  what  He  has  already  given  ’ as  the  first 
feeling  which  that  Exhibition  ought  to  excite  in  us ; and 
as  the  second,  4 the  deep  conviction  that  these  blessings 
can  only  be  realized  in  proportion  to  ’ — not,  as  some 
would  have  it,  the  rivalry  of  selfish  competition,  — but,  4 in 
proportion  to  the  help  which  we  are  prepared  to  render 
to  each  other ; and,  therefore,  by  peace,  love,  and  ready 
assistance,  not  only  between  individuals,  but  between  all 
nations  of  the  earth.’  . . 

Among  the  topics  discussed  in  the  columns  of 
the  “ Christian  Socialist  ” this  year  was  teetotal- 
ism ; and  Mr.  Kingsley  wrote  a remarkable  letter, 
which  was  not  inserted,  treating  the  movement  on 
its  ascetic  side.  While  “deeply  sympathizing,” 
he  says,  “ with  the  horror  of  our  English  drunk- 
enness that  produced  it,  and  honoring  every  tee- 
totaler, as  I honor  every  man  who  proves  by  his 
actions  that  he  possesses  high  principle,  and  man- 
ful self-restraint;”  yet  he  confesses  his  anxiety 
lest  Teetotalism  should  grow  into  an  eleventh 
commandment,  and  become  a root  of  bitterness 
and  dissociation  between  men  who  ought  to  love, 
respect,  and  work  with  each  other,  ending  some 
fifty  years  hence,  in  a great  socialist  split  be- 
tween water-drinkers  and  beer-drinkers,  each 

1 Speech  of  H.  R.  H.  The  Prince  Consort,  at  the  opening  of  the 
Great  Exhibition. 

VOL.  I.— 16 


242  Charles  Kingsley 

party  despising  and  reviling  the  other:  and  so 
encouraging  “ that  subtlest  of  sins,  spiritual  pride 
and  Pharisaism.” 

“The  true  remedies  against  drunkenness,”  he  adds, 
“ are  two.  First,  to  agitate  and  battle  for  that  about  which 
the  working  classes  are  so  culpably  and  blindly  lukewarm, 
— proper  Sanitary  Reform,  which,  by  improving  the  at- 
mosphere of  their  dwellings,  will  take  away  the  morbid 
craving  of  their  stomachs  for  stimulants,  and  render  tem- 
perance easy  and  pleasant ; and,  secondly,  the  establish- 
ment of  small  associate  home-breweries,  in  which  a dozen 
workmen’s  families,  for  a fixed  capital  of  three  or  four 
pounds,  may  brew  themselves  the  best  of  malt-and-hop- 
ale  at  a far  lower  price  (thanks  to  free  trade),  than  they 
can  buy  the  salt  and  grains  of  Paradise,  and  cocculus  in- 
dicus  of  the  scoundrel  publicans,  and  may  free  themselves 
at  once  from  all  that  wretched  public-house  tyranny,  and 
neglect  of  their  families,  to  which  those  who  represent 
Association  as  too  pure  to  consort  with  John  Barleycorn, 
wish  in  their  tender  mercies  to  deliver  them  over  without 
escape.” 

But  while  arguing  against  teetotalism,  and  for 
the  right  of  the  poor  man  to  zvholesome  beer,  he 
was  for  ever  urging  on  landlords  and  magistrates 
to  refuse  to  grant  fresh  licenses,  above  all,  to 
withhold  spirit  licenses;  and  thus  to  make  a stand 
against  the  demoralizing  drunkenness  which 
paralyzes  the  work  of  the  clergy  in  town  and 
country.  He  saw  no  hope  for  the  future  unless 
the  number  of  public  houses  could  be  legally 
restricted  by  the  area  of  the  parish  and  the  amount 
of  population,  to  the  lowest  possible  number.  He 
urged  that  these  should  be  placed  under  the  most 
vigilant  police  superintendence;  especially  in 
outlying  districts,  where  they  are  nests  of  poach- 


Influence  of  “ Yeast  ” 


fW 


243 

ers  and  bad  characters,  and  ruinous  to  the  boys 
and  girls  who  frequent  them,  alas!  from  the 
moment  they  leave  school. 

Early  this  year  he  republished  “Yeast,”  with 
the  addition  of  an  Epilogue.  It  was  a bold 
stroke,  but  he  had  counted  the  cost. 

IK*  ' 

“Whatever  obloquy,”  he  said,  “ it  may  bring  upon  me,  ^ 

I shall  think  that  a light  price  to  pay,  if  by  it  I shall  have 
helped,  even  in  a single  case,  to  turn  the  hearts  of  the  V/ 
parents  to  the  children,  and  the  hearts  of  the  children  to 
the  parents,  before  the  great  and  terrible  day  of  the  Lord 
come — as  come  it  surely  will,  if  we  persist  much  longer 
in  substituting  denunciation  for  sympathy,  instruction  for 
education,  and  Pharisaism  for  the  Good  News  of  the 
Kingdom  of  God.” 

In  the  month  of  May  it  was  reviewed  anony- 
mously in  the  “ Guardian  ” by  a well-known  Ox- 
ford graduate,  a strong  partisan  of  the  Anglican 
party,  who  brought  very  grave  charges  against 
the  book  and  its  writer  — of  “heresy,”  — of  “en- 
couraging profligacy,  of  despising  doctrines  con- 
secrated by  the  faith  of  ages  ...  if  they  tend 
to  check  the  wildest  speculations  of  the  intellect, 
or  restrain  the  most  entire  indulgence  of  the 
passions,”  &c.  The  review  was  so  worded  as  to 
leave  a general  impression  on  the  reader’s  mind 
that  the  book  inculcated  the  vilest  principles,  and 
most  pernicious  doctrines.  Mr.  Kingsley  had 
hitherto  made  it  a rule  not  to  answer  newspaper 
attacks,  especially  those  of  the  religious  press, 
but  these  charges  were  beyond  all  precedent,  and 
he  repudiated  them  indignantly  in  the  following 
letter : 


244  Charles  Kingsley 

“ Sir,  — Having  lived  for  several  years  under  the  be- 
lief that  the  Editor  of  the  ‘ Guardian 9 was  a gentleman 
and  a Christian,  I am  bound  to  take  for  granted  that  you 
have  not  yourself  read  the  book  called  ‘ Yeast/  which  you 
have  allowed  to  be  reviewed  in  your  columns.  This  an- 
swer, therefore,  is  addressed,  not  to  you,  but  to  your 
reviewer ; and  I have  a right  to  expect  that  you  will,  as 
an  act  of  common  fairness,  insert  it. 

“ I most  thoroughly  agree  with  the  reviewer  that  he  has 
not  misunderstood  me ; on  the  contrary,  he  sees  most 
clearly  the  gist  of  the  book,  ;,s  is  proved  by  his  carefully 
omitting  any  mention  whatsoever  of  two  questions  con- 
nected with  a character  whose  existence  is  passed  over  in 
silence,  which  form  the  very  pith  and  moral  of  the  whole 
book.  I know  well  enough  why  he  has  ignored  them  ; 
because  they  were  the  very  ones  which  excited  his 
wrath.  But  he  makes  certain  allegations  against  me 
which  I found  it  somewhat  difficult  to  answer,  from  their 
very  preposterousness,  till,  in  Pascal's  Fifteenth  Provincial 
Letter , I fell  on  an  argument  which  a certain  Capuchin 
Father,  Valerian,  found  successful  against  the  Jesuits,  and 
which  seems  to  suit  the  reviewer  exactly.  I shall  there- 
fore proceed  to  apply  it  to  the  two  accusations  which 
concern  me  most  nearly  as  a churchman,  i.  He  asserts 
that  I say  that  e it  is  common  sense  and  logic  to  make 
ourselves  children  of  God  by  believing  that  we  are  so 
when  we  are  not.’  Sir,  you  and  your  readers  will  hardly 
believe  me  when  I tell  you  that  this  is  the  exact  and 
formal  opposite  to  what  I say,  that  the  words  which  he 
misquotes,  by  leaving  out  the  context  and  the  note  of  inter- 
rogation, occur  in  a scornful  reductio  ad  absurdum  of  the 
very  doctrine  which  he  wantonly  imputes  to  me,  an  ap- 
peal to  common  sense  and  logic  against  and  not  for  the 
lie  of  the  Genevan  School.  I have  a right  to  use  the 
word  4 wantonly/  for  he  cannot  say  that  he  has  misunder- 
stood me ; he  has  refused  to  allow  me  that  plea,  and  I 
refuse  to  allow  it  to  him.  Indeed,  I cannot,  for  the  pas- 


Influence  of  “ Yeast  ” 


245 

sage  is  as  plain  as  daylight,  no  schoolboy  could  misun- 
derstand it  ; and  every  friend  to  whom  I have  shown  his 
version  of  it  has  received  it  with  the  same  laughter  and 
indignation  with  which  I did,  and  felt,  with  me,  that  the 
only  answer  to  be  given  to  such  dishonesty  was  that  of 
Father  Valerian,  ‘ Mentiris  impudentissime .' 

“2.  So  with  the  assertion,  that  the  book  e regards  the 
Catholic  doctrine  of  the  Trinity  as  the  same  thing  with 
that  of  the  Vedus  Neo-Platonists,'  &c.  &c. ; or  considers 
* a certain  amount  of  youthful  profligacy  as  doing  no  real 
and  permanent  harm  to  the  character  — perhaps  strength- 
ening it  — for  a useful  and  even  a religious  life  ; and  that 
the  existence  of  the  passions  is  a proof  that  they  are  to 
be  gratified/  Sir,  I shall  not  quote  passages  in  disproof 
of  these  calumnies,  for  if  I did  I should  have  to  quote 
half  the  book.  I shall  simply  reply,  with  Father  Valerian, 

‘ Mentiris  impudentissime / 

“ I shall  enter  into  no  further  defence  of  the  book  ; I 
have  no  doubt  of  there  being  many  errors  and  defects  in 
it.  I shall  be  most  thankful  to  have  them  pointed  out, 
and  to  correct  them  most  patiently.  But  one  thing  I 
may  say,  to  save  trouble  hereafter,  that  whosoever  hence- 
forth, either  explicitly  or  by  insinuation,  says  that  I do 
not  hold  and  believe  ex  a?iimo,  and  in  the  simple  and 
literal  sense,  all  the  doctrines  of  the  Catholic  and  Apos- 
tolic Church  of  England,  as  embodied  in  her  Liturgy  or 
Articles,  shall  have  no  answer  from  me  but  Father 
Valerian's  Mentiris  vnpudentissime. 

“ I am,  Sir,  your  obedient  and  faithful  servant, 

“The  Author  of  ‘ Yeast.'  ” 

These  misrepresentations,  absurd  as  they  may 
seem  now,  as  to  the  tendency  of  his  teaching  in 
“Yeast,”  and  at  a later  period  in  “Hypatia,” 
assuming  as  they  did  a want  of  moral  principle 
in  himself,  and  his  encouragement  of  immorality 
in  others,  touched  Mr,  Kingsley  on  his  tenderest 


246  Charles  Kingsley 

point.  But  when  the  first  feeling  and  expression 
of  righteous  indignation  was  over,  he  had  a won- 
derful power  of  putting  his  reviewers  and  their 
hard  words  out  of  his  mind,  and  going  on  his  way- 
bearing  no  malice.  “ Life  is  too  short  and  too 
full  of  hard  work,”  he  would  say,  “to  give  one 
time  to  hate  and  suspect  people.”  The  facts, 
however,  are  recalled  here  to  show  those  who 
know  what  the  results  of  his  work  have  been,  and 
the  different  tone  taken  since  towards  him  by  the 
religious  press,  what  sore  battles  he  had  at  one 
time  to  fight,  what  bitter  insults  he  had  to  stand, 
while  laboring  day  and  night  in  the  cause  of  purity 
and  godliness.  The  “Guardian”  replied  again, 
reiterating  its  charges;  the  best  answers  to  which 
might  be  found  in  the  many  testimonies  he  re- 
ceived to  the  moral  influence  of  “Yeast  ” on  those 
whose  hearts  could  not  be  touched  by  teachers  of 
a narrower  school : and  in  the  fact  that  more  than 
one  “ fast  man  ” came  down  from  London  to  open 
his  heart  to  its  author.  “To  him,”  (to  use  his 
own  words  of  Mr.  Maurice,)  “as  to  David  in  the 
wilderness,  gathered  those  who  were  spiritually 
discontented,  and  spiritually  in  debt;  and  he  was 
a captain  over  them,  because,  like  David,  he 
talked  to  them,  not  of  his  own  genius,  or  his  own 
doctrines,  but  of  the  Living  God,  who  had  helped 
their  forefathers,  and  would  help  them  like- 
wise. ...” 

“ I have  just  finished  ‘ Yeast/  ” writes  a stranger,  “ and, 
fresh  from  the  book,  I cannot  resist  communicating  to 
you  my  heartfelt  thanks  for  it.  You  will  not  care  about 
whether  I thank  you  or  not ; never  mind,  I shall  relieve 
myself  by  writing.  ...  I believe  you  have  taken  up  the 
right  ground  in  standing  firmly  by  the  spirit  of  Christi- 


Influence  of  “Yeast”  247 

anity,  and  the  divineness  of  Christ’s  mission,  and  showing 
the  people  how  they  are  their  best  friends  and  the  truest 
reformers.  I have  been  as  far  as  most  people  into  the 
Kingdom  of  the  Everlasting  No,  and  had  nearly,  in  my 
intellectual  misery,  taken  up  with  blank  Atheism  ; and 
should  have  done  so,  had  not  my  heart  rebelled  against 
my  head,  and  flooding  in  upon  me  reflections  of  earlier, 
purer,  brighter  days  of  Faith,  bade  me  pause.  For  six 
months  I have  been  looking  back  to  Christianity,  my 
heart  impelling  me  towards  it ; my  head  urging  me  into 
farther  cimmerias.  I wanted  some  authoritative  word  to 
confirm  my  heart,  but  could  not  meet  with  it.  I read 
orthodox  books  of  argument,  of  persuasion,  of  narrative, 
but  I found  they  only  increased  my  antagonism  to  Chris- 
tianity. And  I was  very  miserable  — as  I believe  all 
earnest  men  must  be  when  they  find  themselves  God- 
abandoned  in  times  like  these  — when,  picking  up  your 
‘ Christian  Socialist/  I read  your  ‘ God  justified  to  the 
People/  and  felt  that  here  now  was  a man,  not  a mere  empty 
evangelical  tub-thumper  (as  we  of  the  North  call  Ranters), 
but  a bo?ia  fide  man  with  a man’s  intellect,  a man  of  genius, 
and  a scholar,  and  yet  who  did  not  spit  upon  his  Bible, 
or  class  it  with  Goethe  and  Dante,  but  could  have  sym- 
pathies with  all  the  ferment  of  the  age;  be  a Radical 
Reformer  without  being  a vague  denier,  a vaguer  ‘ Spirit- 
ualist/ or  an  utter  Atheist.  If  this  man,  on  further 
acquaintance,  prove  what  I suspect  him  to  be,  here  is 
the  confirmation  I desire.  Impelled  by  this,  and  by  the 
accounts  I gathered  of  you  from  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carlyle, 

I devoured  ‘ Yeast ; ’ and  c Alton  Locke/  I am  now  in  the 
middle  of ; . . . and  having,  day  and  night,  meditated 
on  what  you  have  to  say,  I feel  that  the  confirmation  I 
have  got  from  you  is  sufficient.  But  I have  another 
better  confirmation  in  my  own  heart.  I feel  as  if  I had 
emerged  from  a mephitic  cavern  into  the  open  day.  In 
the  midst  of  worldly  reverses,  I feel  a mental  serenity  I 
never  before  knew  ; can  see  life  and  my  role  in  life,  clear 


248  Charles  Kingsley 

and  definite  for  the  first  time,  through  all  manner  of  inter- 
vening entanglements.  I know  not  by  what  right  I make 
you  my  father  confessor,  but  I feel  strangely  drawn 
towards  you,  and  must  send  this  to  thank  you  and  to 
bless  you  for  having  helped  in  the  light  and  the  leaven  to 
a sad  yeasty  spirit  hitherto.” 

A Wesleyan  minister  thus  also  gives  his 
testimony : 

“I  have  read  your  book  ‘Yeast:  a Problem ; ’ and 
cannot  refrain  from  thanking  you  on  my  own  behalf,  and 
on  behalf  of  the  millions  of  poor,  for  whom,  with  a warm 
heart,  a clear  head,  and  a modest  tongue,  you  have 
pleaded.  For  years  I have  ardently  longed  to  see  the 
cause  of  the  needy  advocated  by  one  who  knew  their 
real  condition,  as  well  as  their  undoubted  rights.  And, 
for  one,  I thank  you  most  heartily  for  your  priceless 
delineation  of  a skeptical  mind  feeling  after  the  Almighty. 
Alas ! there  are  few,  yet,  of  my  fellow  working-men  who 
can  follow  you  through  the  open  door  you  set  before 
them,  however  ready  they  may  be  to  lose  themselves  in 
the  first  labyrinth  of  doubt  which  presents  itself.  ...  I 
hope  I shall  be  able  to  induce  some  of  my  well-meaning, 
but  injudicious,  brethren  (I  am  a Wesleyan  Local  Preacher) 
to  look  more  attentively,  and  with  more  humility,  at  the 
wounds  they  strive  to  heal.  . . . ” 

On  the  28th  of  May,  his  controversy  about 
“ Yeast”  scarcely  over,  he  had  to  deliver  one 
of  a series  of  lectures  on  behalf  of  the  Society 
for  Promoting  Working  Men's  Associations,  on 
The  Application  of  Associative  Principles  and 
Methods  to  Agriculture.  He  gave  it,  as  he 
said,  with  the  greatest  diffidence;  and  its  effect 
on  those  who  heard  it  is  described  by  a London 
barrister : 


Lecture  on  Agriculture  249 

“ I was  engaged  till  so  late  yesterday  condensing  your 
husband’s  lecture  for  the  ‘ Christian  Socialist/  that  I was 
not  able  to  write  to  you  as  I intended.  I can  only  say 
that  I feel  what  everybody  else  feels  whom  I have  spoken 
with  on  the  subject,  that  no  other  man  in  England  could 
have  done  what  he  did ; I say  man  emphatically,  because 
if  I were  to  seek  a word  to  express  my  opinion  of  it,  I 
would  say  it  was  the  manliest  thing  I had  ever  heard. 
Such  a right  bold  honest  way  of  turning  from  side  to  side, 
looking  everything  straight  in  the  face,  and  speaking  out 
all  the  good  and  all  the  ill  that  could  be  said  of  it,  in  the 
plainest  way,  was  surely  never  seen  before ; and  certainly 
never  was  audience  kept  for  nearly  two  hours  and  a half 
so  attentive,  by  the  mere  weight  of  the  subject,  and  the 
force  with  which  it  was  wielded.  ...  I can  call  the 
thing  but  by  one  name  — a triumph.” 

In  the  summer  he  was  asked  to  help  in  a course 
of  sermons  specially  addressed  to  the  working  men 
who  came  up  to  London  to  see  the  Great  Exhibi- 
tion. His  subject  was  — The  message  of  they 
Church  to  laboring  men. 

“ Kingsley”  (to  quote  Mr.  T.  Hughes)  “took  his 
text  from  Luke  iv.  verses  18  to  21:  ‘The  Spirit  of  the 
Lord  is  upon  me,  because  He  hath  anointed  me  to 
preach  the  gospel  to  the  poor/  &c.  What  then  was  that 
gospel?  Kingsley  starts  at  once  with  — ‘ I assert  that  the 
business  for  which  God  sends  a Christian  priest  in  a 
Christian  nation  is  to  preach  freedom,  equality,  and 
brotherhood,  in  the  fullest,  deepest,  widest  meaning  of 
those  three  great  words ; that  in  as  far  as  he  so  does,  he 
is  a true  priest,  doing  his  Lord’s  work  with  his  Lord’s 
blessing  on  him ; that  in  as  far  as  he  does  not  he  is  no 
priest  at  all,  but  a traitor  to  God  and  man  ;’  and  again,  ‘ I 
say  that  these  words  express  the  very  pith  and  marrow  of 
a priest’s  business ; I say  that  they  preach  freedom, 
equality,  and  brotherhood,  to  rich  and  poor  for  ever  and 


250  Charles  Kingsley 

ever/  Then  he  goes  on  to  warn  his  hearers  how  there  is 
always  a counterfeit  in  this  world  of  the  noblest  message 
and  teaching.  Thus  there  are  two  freedoms  — the  false, 
where  a man  is  free  to  do  what  he  likes ; the  true,  where 
a man  is  free  to  do  what  he  ought.  Two  equalities  — the 
false,  which  reduces  all  intellects  and  all  characters  to  a 
dead  level,  and  gives  the  same  power  to  the  bad  as  to  the 
good,  to  the  wise  as  to  the  foolish,  ending  thus  in  practice 
in  the  grossest  inequality;  the  true,  wherein  each  man 
has  equal  power,  to  educate  and  use  whatever  faculties  or 
talents  God  has  given  him,  be  they  less  or  more.  This 
is  the  divine  equality  which  the  church  proclaims,  and 
nothing  else  proclaims  as  she  does.  Two  brotherhoods 
— the  false,  where  a man  chooses  who  shall  be  his 
brothers,  and  whom  he  will  treat  as  such ; the  true,  in 
which  a man  believes  that  all  are  his  brothers,  not  by  the 
will  of  the  flesh,  or  the  will  of  man,  but  by  the  will  of 
God,  whose  children  they  all  are  alike.  The  Church  has 
three  special  possessions  and  treasures.  The  Bible, 
which  proclaims  man’s  freedom,  Baptism  his  equality,  the 
Lord’s  Supper  his  brotherhood.  . . — (Preface  to 

“ Alton  Locke.”) 

The  sermon  was  listened  to  with  profound 
attention  by  a large  congregation.  But  at  its 
close,  just  as  the  preacher  was  about  to  give  the 
blessing,  the  incumbent  rose  in  the  reading-desk 
and  declared,  that  while  he  agreed  with  much  that 
had  been  said,  it  was  his  painful  duty  to  add  that 
he  believed  much  to  be  dangerous  and  much 
untrue.  The  excitement  of  the  congregation  was 
intense:  the  working  men  could  with  difficulty  be 
kept  quiet,  and  to  a man  of  Mr.  Kingsley’s  vehe- 
ment temperament  it  required  a great  effort  to 
make  no  reply.  He  only  bowed  his  head,  and 
with  deepened  solemnity  gave  the  blessing,  came 
down  from  the  pulpit,  and  passing  straight 


In  a London  Church  251 

through  the  crowd  that  thronged  him  with  out- 
stretched hands,  and  an  eager  “ God  bless  you, 
sir,”  on  their  lips,  went  into  the  vestry,  where 
his  friends  gathered  round  him  to  express  their 
sympathy,  and  to  take  possession  of  the  sermon 
that  it  might  be  printed  at  once. 

He  returned  to  Eversley  exhausted  and  de- 
pressed, and  in  the  meantime  the  storm  burst. 
A leading  morning  paper  began  the  attack,  with 
an  article,  full  of  inaccuracies,  which  made  the 
intended  impression  on  those  who  were  already 
strongly  prejudiced  against  the  “ Apostle  of 
Socialism.”  This  was  followed  by  a letter  from 
Bishop  Blomfield,  who,  hearing  of  the  disturb- 
ance, wrote  to  Mr.  Kingsley  to  express  his  dis- 
pleasure, and  to  forbid  him  to  preach  in  London. 
Mr.  Kingsley  in  answer  most  respectfully  re- 
quested the  Bishop  to  suspend  his  judgment  till 
he  had  read  the  sermon.  Meanwhile  letters  of 
sympathy  poured  in  from  all  quarters,  from  a few 
of  the  clergy,  from  many  of  the  laity,  and  from 
numbers  of  working  men.  There  was  a meeting 
of  working  men  on  Kennington  Common,  who 
sent  him  an  expression  of  their  warm  allegiance 
and  sympathy.  A proposal  was  also  made  before 
the  Bishop’s  prohibition  was  withdrawn,  to  induce 
Mr.  Kingsley  to  start  a free  church  independent 
of  episcopal  rule,  with  the  promise  of  a huge 
following.  It  is  needless  to  say  he  did  not  enter- 
tain this  proposal  for  a moment.  Before  the  meet- 
ing on  Kennington  Common,  the'secretary  of  the 
John  Street  Lecture  Hall,  where  the  audience 
was  mostly  composed  of  Chartists,  free-thinkers, 
and  followers  of  Strauss,  some  of  whom  had  heard 
his  sermon,  wrote  to  offer  Mr.  Kingsley  and  his 


252  Charles  Kingsley 

friends  the  use  of  their  hall,  which  he  declined 
thus : 

June  26,  1851.  — “I  have  conferred  with  my  friends 
on  their  willingness  to  give  lectures  in  John  Street,  and 
find  it  to  be  their  unanimous  opinion,  that  to  do  so, 
would  be  interpreted  by  the  public  into  an  approval,  more 
or  less,  of  other  doctrines  which  are  taught  there,  from 
which  I,  of  all  men  in  England,  differ  most  strongly,  and 
from  which  I hold  myself  bound  most  strongly  to  protest. 
As  a churchman,  such  a suspicion  would  be  intolerable  to 
me,  as  it  would  be  gratuitously  incurred.  Those  who 
wish  to  know  my  opinions  will  have  plenty  of  opportuni- 
ties elsewhere  ; and  I must  therefore,  in  common  with  my 
friends,  distinctly,  but  most  courteously,  decline  your 
kind  offer  of  the  John  Street  lecture  rooms.” 

In  the  meantime  the  sermon  was  printed  and  a 
copy  sent  to  the  Bishop,  who  wrote  at  once  to 
ask  Mr.  Kingsley  to  come  up  and  see  him;  and 
after  receiving  him  kindly,  gave  him  full  permis- 
sion to  preach  in  his  diocese  again. 

He  was  now  so  much  worn  with  the  work  and 
the  controversies  of  the  last  eight  months,  that 
his  parents,  seeing  the  importance  of  his  having 
thorough  change,  persuaded  him  to  leave  his 
parish  in  the  care  of  a curate  and  go  abroad  with 
them.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  crossed  the 
water,  and  he  enjoyed  it,  as  thoroughly  as  he 
could  enjoy  anything  which  took  him  from  his 
home.  But  even  in  new  scenes  his  fiery  spirit 
could  not  rest;  and  the  cause  of  the  church  and 
the  people  pressed  heavily  on  him. 

TO  HIS  WIFE 

Ems  : August  1,  1851.  — “ Actually  at  Ems  at  last. 
As  for  what  I have  seen  and  felt  I cannot  tell  you.  My 


Visit  to  Germany  253 

comfort  is  that  you  have  seen  it  already,  though,  alas  ! 
you  have  not  seen  that  glass  by  Kaulbach  at  Coin,  which 
is  most  magnificent.  Grand  pictures  in  painted  glass, 
with  far  distances,  which  let  the  eye  out  of  the  building, 
instead  of  confining  and  crushing  it  inwards,  as  painted 
glass  generally  does.  I cried  like  a child,  at  the  head  of 
the  Virgin  in  that  great  triptych  of  Koloffs,  the  Adora- 
tion ; that  head  is  the  most  wonderful  female  head  I ever 
saw  yet  from  the  hand  of  man.  Then  I had  my  first 
sight  of  the  Rhine  and  vineyards  — such  a strange  new 
feeling  — and  the  Drachenfels,  which  is  fine ; but  I was 
not  overpowered  as  I was  by  Rolandseck  and  Nonnen- 
werth,  and  that  story  ; — it  seemed  quite  awful  to  find  one- 
self in  presence  of  it.  Ehrenbreitstein  disappointed  me. 
. . . But  it  is  all  beautiful  — beautiful.  That  vast  rush- 
ing silent  river,  those  yellow  vine  slopes,  and  azure  hills 
behind,  with  the  thunder  clouds  lowering  over  their  heads 
— beautiful ; and  the  air  1 I have  felt  new  nerves,  as 
well  as  new  eyes,  ever  since  Cologne ; the  wonderful 
freshness  and  transparency  of  the  coloring,  and  the 
bracing  balminess  of  the  atmosphere,  make  me  under- 
stand now  at  once  why  people  prefer  this  to  England  ; 
there  is  no  denying  it.  It  is  a more  charming  country, 
and  that  is  the  best  of  reasons  one  has  for  thanking  God 
that  one  has  not  the  means  of  escaping  to  it  from  work. 
. . . How  strange  that  my  favorite  Psalm  about 1 the  hills 
of  the  robbers’  should  have  come  the  very  day  I went  up 
the  Rhine.  . . . The  other  day  we  walked  over  the  hills  and 
caught  unspeakable  butterflies,  and  found  — conceive  my 
delight  — some  twenty-five  species  of  plants,  new  to  me  ! 
I cannot  tell  you  the  enjoyment  of  it.  The  scenery  is  cer- 
tainly most  lovely  in  every  direction  ; and  it  is  so  delight- 
ful to  think  that  you  know  it  all ! That  thought  recurs  to 
me  continually.  Tell  the  darling  children  that  I will 
bring  them  each  home  something  pretty,  and  that  the 
woods  are  full  of  great  orange  slugs,  and  great  green 
lizards,  and  great  long  snakes  which  bite  nobody,  and 


254  Charles  Kingsley 

that  I will  bring  them  home  some  red  and  blue  locusts 
out  of  the  vineyards.  . . . Another  dear  letter,  and  with 
such  good  news  too  ! (about  the  Needlewoman’s  and 
other  associations).  I am  so  lifted  up,  and  thankful  for 
it ! I am  sure  the  cause  is  spreading  ; and  as  the  Psalms 
for  this  morning  say — Those  who  fear  God  will  be 
turned  to  us ; let  the  proud  lie  as  they  will.  . . . 

“ I have  worlds  to  tell  you.  I have  been  to  Bingen. 
We  walked  down  the  right  bank  to  St.  Goar,  and  back 
again.  ...  I scrambled  up  the  face  of  the  Lurlei  to  the 
Nymph’s  own  seat,  and  picked  you  a little  bouquet.  . . . 
You  told  me  I should  be  disappointed.  It  is  past  all 
telling — beautiful  — wonderful.  Three  things  above  all 
— Oberwesel  — the  Sonneck  Schloss,  worth  (as  a beau 
ideal  of  the  robber’s  nest)  all  the  other  castles  put  to- 
gether — and  the  opening  out  of  the  Rhine  at  Bingen 
into  infinite  unknown  distances,  and  calm,  and  glory,  and 
wealth.  I never  shall,  or  hope  I never  shall,  forget  that 
one  thing  as  long  as  I live.  As  for  new  plants,  I should 
think  I passed  fifty  new  species  in  that  one  day.  Keep- 
ing them  was  no  good,  so  I just  picked  specimens, 
and  looked  at  them  till  I knew  them  thoroughly,  and 
went  on  regretful.  On  Monday  we  start  for  the  Eifel. 
I have  been  writing  a good  deal  of  poetry;  you  shall 
have  it  all  when  I get  home ; and  that  getting  home  is 
really  too  delicious  to  think  of.  Tell  the  dear  children  I 
am  getting  lots  of  stories  for  them.  The  Eifel  tramp  will 
set  me  up,  with  God’s  blessing,  utterly.  . . . 

“.  . . I take  a knapsack  and  plaid,  a change  of  gar- 
ments, paper  to  write  to  you  twice  a week,  my  pipe, 
fishing-tackle,  German  Testament,  word-book,  note-book, 
and  map  of  the  Eifel.  And  so  we  start,  and  in  a fort- 
night appear  at  Bonn,  with  beards,  I suppose,  as  shaving 
is  out  of  the  question.  I get  better  and  better,  and  have 
written  lots  more  poetry.  Here  is  a sonnet  for  you  : 

“ The  Baby  sings  not  at  its  mother’s  breast.” 


Visit  to  Germany  255 

The  other  poems  which  he  sent  home  to  his 
wife  were:  “The  Ugly  Princess “Oh  thou 
hadst  been  a wife  for  Shakespeare’s  self;  ” “Ask 
if  I love  thee?  oh,  smiles  cannot  tell;”  “The 
world  goes  up  and  the  world  goes  down ; ” and 
“The  Eagle.” 

Menderscheid  : August  7.  — “ I write  from  the  love- 
liest place  you  can  imagine,  only  how  we  got  here  I 
know  not ; having  lost  our  way  between  some  4 feld  ’ or 
other  to  here.  We  found  ourselves  about  8 p.  m.  last 
night  at  the  top  of  a cliff  500  feet  high,  with  a roaring 
river  at  the  bottom,  and  no  path.  So  down  the  cliff-face 
we  had  to  come  in  the  dark,  or  sleep  in  the  forest  to  be 
eaten  by  wild  boars  and  wolves,  of  which  latter,  one  was 
seen  on  our  route  yesterday  ‘ as  high  as  the  table.’ 
And  down  we  came,  knapsacks,  fishing-rods,  and  all ; 
which  process  must  not  be  repeated  often  if  we  intend  to 
revisit  our  native  shores.  I have  seen  such  wonders  I 
don’t  know  where  to  begin.  Craters  filled  sometimes 
with  ghastly  blue  lakes,  with  shores  of  volcanic  dust,  and 
sometimes,  quaintly  enough,  by  rye-fields  and  reapers. 
The  roads  are  mended  with  lava ; the  whole  country  the 
strangest  jumble,  alternations  of  Cambridgeshire  ugliness 
(only  lifted  up  1200  feet  high)  with  all  the  beauties  of 
Devonshire.  The  bed  of  the  Issbach,  from  the  baths  of 
Bertrich,  up  which  we  came  yesterday,  was  the  most 
ravishingly  beautiful  glen  scenery  I ever  saw ; such  rocks 
— such  baths  — such  mountains  covered  with  huge 
timber  — not  mere  scrub,  like  the  Rhine  forests.  Such 
strips  of  lawn  here  and  there  between  the  stream  and  the 
wood.  All  this,  of  course,  you  get  on  a grander  scale  on 
the  Moselle,  which  was  perfectly  exquisite ; yet  there  is  a 
monotony  in  its  luscious  richness  and  softness,  and  I was 
right  glad  to  find  myself  on  my  legs  at  Alf.  Weather 
glorious.  I have  just  had  my  first  sight  of  the  basalt 
opposite  the  Kurhaus  of  all  Kurhauses  — so  lovely,  one 


256  Charles  Kingsley 


longs  to  kiss  it.  At  two  or  three  points  one  felt  only 
inclined  to  worship.  Bertrich  is  just  as  beautiful  as  every- 
thing else,  too.  Tell  Rose  I have  got  her  some  volcano- 
dust  from  the  crater  of  the  Pulver-Maar.  To-day  we  go 
to  a great  Maar  with  cones  of  slag  round  it,  and  then  a- 
fishing  for  trout.  I am  exceedingly  well  and  strong, 
though  we  did  dine  yesterday  off  raw  ham,  and  hock  at 
gd.  a bottle.  My  knapsack  and  plaid  weigh  about  two 
stone,  which  is  very  heavy,  but  I go  well  enough  under 
it,  having  got  a pair  of  elastic  cross-straps,  which  divide 
the  weight  over  the  breast-bone.  . . 

Gerolstein  : August  10. — “ The  most  wonderful 
place  I ever  was  in  in  my  life,  and  during  the  last  three 
days  I have  been  stunned  with  wonders.  Mountains 
fallen  in,  and  making  great  lakes  in  the  midst  of  corn- 
land  ; hills  blown  up  with  the  wildest  perpendicular 
crags,  and  roasted  into  dust;  craters  with  the  lips  so 
perfect  that  the  fire  might  have  been  blazing  in  them 
twelve  months  ago ; heaps  of  slag  and  cinder  2,500  feet 
above  the  sea,  on  which  nothing  will  grow,  so  burnt  are 
they ; lava  streams  pouring  down  into  the  valley,  meet- 
ing with  brooks,  drying  them  up,  and  in  the  fight  foaming 
up  into  cliffs,  and  hurling  huge  masses  of  trachyte  far 
into  the  dells ; mysterious  mineral  springs  boiling  up, 
full  of  carbonic  acid,  by  the  roadside  — all,  as  Beatrice 
says,  ‘ wonderful,  wonderful,  and  yet  again  wonderful, 
past  all  whooping  ! * When  I shall  get  to  Treves  and 
your  letter  I know  not,  for  there  is  so  much  to  see  here 
that  I cannot  tell  when  we  move ; and  the  living  is  ridic- 
ulously cheap,  about  2 s.  6d.  or  $s.  a day  for  one  person, 
and  we  could  not  spend  more  if  we  would,  for  there  is 
nothing  to  spend  on.  This  is  the  most  memorable  thing 
I have  ever  seen,  and  when  one  adds,  too,  all  the  flowers, 
and  the  castles,  and  the  vales  — why,  it  will  take  me 
three  months  to  tell  you  all.  Kiss  my  darlings,  and  tell 
Rose  I have  got  for  her  all  sorts  of  curious  lava-stones 
from  the  volcanoes,  and  shall  carry  them  200  miles  on 


Visit  to  Germany  257 

my  back  before  she  gets  them.  What  fun  we  shall  have 
arranging  and  classifying  them  when  I get  home.  God 
be  thanked  that  I ever  came  here  to  see  so  much.” 

Birreborn  : August  13.  — “I  write  to  you  out  of  the 
quaintest  place,  with  a mineral  spring  which  kills  dogs 
and  birds,  and  a landlady  who  talks  good  French  and 
bad  German,  and  a husband  who  is  a dirty  pothouse- 
keeper,  with  a casting  net  over  his  arm  ; and  yet,  speak- 
ing of  Kaulbach’s  stained  glass  at  Cologne,  gives  it  as 
his  opinion  (in  these  very  words) , that  4 they  say  that 
Art  (die  Kunst)  is  decayed,  but  my  opinion  is,  that  it 
widens  and  deepens  every  day.’(  ! ! !)  Really  this  Ger- 
many is  a wonderful  country  — though  its  population  are 
not  members  of  the  Church  of  England  — and  as  noble, 
simple,  shrewd,  kindly  hearts  in  it,  as  man  would  wish  to 
see.  I cannot  tell  you  what  moral  good  this  whole 
journey  has  done  me.  I am  learning  hourly  so  much, 
that  I do  not  know  how  much  I have  learnt.  Exceed- 
ingly well  and  strong ; as  lean  as  a lath,  as  any  one 
would  be  who  carried  two  stone  of  baggage,  daily  in- 
creasing in  weight  from  the  minerals  and  fossils  I find, 
on  his  back  through  broiling  suns.  We  are  both  worse 
than  the  4 hollow,  pampered  jades  of  Asia,  that  cannot 
go  but  thirty  miles  a day/  for  with  our  knapsacks  we  can 
only  make  fifteen,  and  then  a sight-seeing  walk  in  the 
evening.  Yesterday  we  had  indeed  a day.  We  walked 
from  Hillesheim  past  the  Dreiser  Weiher — a mountain 
fallen  into  a crater,  as  is  their  habit  here  — and  on  the 
back  among  the  volcanic  dust-mountains  we  found  such 
minerals  — olivine,  augite,  and  glassy  feldspar.  One  could 
have  filled  a cart  — as  it  was  I could  only  fill  a pair  of 
socks.  Then  we  went  from  Daun  up  to  the  Schalcken 
Maaren.  Three  crater  lakes  in  one  mountain,  which, 
being  past  all  words  beautiful  and  wonderful  and  awful,  I 
will  say  no  more.  Every  night  I dream  of  you  and  the 
children,  and  everywhere  I go  I pick  you  flowers  fur 
denkmaler.” 
vol.  1.  — 17 


258  Charles  Kingsley 

Treves  : August  17.  — “ Here  we  are  at  Treves,  hav- 
ing been  brought  there  under  arrest,  with  a gensdarme 
from  the  Mayor  of  Bittsburg,  and  liberated  next  morning 
with  much  laughter  and  many  curses  from  the  police  here. 
However,  we  had  the  pleasure  of  spending  a night  in 
prison,  among  fleas  and  felons,  on  the  bare  floor.  It 
appears  the  barbarians  took  our  fishing-rods  for  ‘todt- 
instrumenten ? — deadly  weapons  — and  our  wide-awakes 
for  Italian  hats,  and  got  into  their  addle  pates  that  we 
were  emissaries  of  Mazzini  and  Co.  distributing  political 
tracts,  for  not  a word  of  politics  had  we  talked.  Luckily 
the  police-inspector  here  was  a gentleman,  and  his  wife 
and  daughter  ladies,  and  they  did  all  they  dare  for  us, 
and  so  about  ten  next  morning  we  were  set  free  with 
many  apologies,  and  the  gensdarme  (who,  after  all,  poor 
fellow,  was  very  civil)  sent  back  to  Bittsburg  with  a repri- 
mand. We  are  the  lions  of  Treves  at  present,  for  the 
affair  has  made  a considerable  fuss.  We  leave  this  to- 
morrow after  having  seen  all  the  wonders  — and  what 
wonders  there  are  to  see  ! I need  not  tell  you  all  I have 
felt  here  and  at  Fleissem.  But  at  first  the  feeling  that 
one  is  standing  over  the  skeleton  of  the  giant  iniquity  — 
Old  Rome  — is  overpowering.  And  as  I stood  last  night 
in  that  amphitheatre,  amid  the  wild  beasts’  dens,  and 
thought  of  the  Christian  martyrdoms  and  the  Frank 
prisoners,  and  all  the  hellish  scenes  of  agony  and  cruelty 
that  place  had  witnessed,  I seemed  to  hear  the  very  voice 
of  the  Archangel  whom  St.  John  heard  in  Patmos,  crying, 
‘ Babylon  the  Great  is  fallen ; ’ — no  more  like  the  sound 
of  a trumpet,  but  only  in  the  still  whisper  of  the  night 
breeze,  and  through  the  sleeping  vineyards,  and  the  great 
still  smile  of  God  out  of  the  broad  blue  heaven.  Ah  ! 
and  you  were  not  there  to  feel  it  with  me ! I am  so 
longing  to  be  home  ! . . . ” 

Before  going  abroad,  he  had  parted  with  the 
beloved  pupil  who  was  dear  to  him  and  his  wife 
as  a son.  Mr.  John  Martineau’s  graphic  words 


From  John  Martineau  259 

and  tender  recollections  give  a true  picture  of 
the  home  life  at  Eversley. 

“I  first  knew  him  in  January,  1850.  I entered  his 
house  as  his  pupil,  and  was  for  nearly  a year  and  a half 
his  constant  companion.  He  was  then  in  his  thirty-first 
year,  in  the  fulness  of  his  strength ; I a raw  receptive 
school-boy  of  fifteen ; so  that  his  mind  and  character  left 
their  impression  upon  mine  as  a seal  does  upon  wax. 
He  was  then,  above  all  things  and  before  all  things  else, 
a parish  clergyman.  His  parish  work  was  not  indeed  so 
laborious  and  absorbing  as  it  had  been  six  years  before, 
when  he  was  first  made  Rector.  The  efforts  of  these 
six  years  had  told,  the  seed  was  bearing  fruit,  and  Evers- 
ley would  never  again  be  as  it  had  been.  He  had  now  a 
curate  to  help  him,  and  give  him  the  leisure  which  he 
needed  for  writing.  Still,  even  so,  with  a large  and  strag- 
gling though  not  very  populous  parish,  with  his  share  of 
three  services  on  Sunday  and  cottage  lectures  on  two 
week-day  evenings  in  winter,  there  was  much  for  him  to 
do,  throwing  himself  into  it,  as  he  did,  with  all  his  inten- 
sity and  keen  sense  of  responsibility.  These  were  the 
days  when  farm-laborers  in  Hampshire  got  from  eight 
to  ten  shillings  a week,  and  bread  was  dear,  or  had  not 
long  ceased  to  be  so.  The  cholera  of  1849  had  J*ust 
swept  through  the  country,  and  though  it  had  not  reached 
Eversley,  a severe  kind  of  low  fever  had,  and  there  had 
been  a season  of  much  illness  and  many  deaths,  during 
which  he  had,  by  his  constant,  anxious,  tender  care  of 
the  sick  poor,  won  their  confidence  more  than  ever 
before.  The  poor  will  not  go  to  the  relieving  officer  if 
they  can  get  their  needs  supplied  elsewhere  ; and  the 
Eversley  poor  used  to  go  for  relief,  and  something  more 
than  relief,  to  the  Rectory.  There  were  few  mornings,  at 
that  time,  that  did  not  bring  some  one  in  distress,  some 
feeble  woman,  or  ailing  child,  or  a summons  to  a sick- 
bed. Up  to  that  time  he  had  allowed  no  man  or  woman 


260  Charles  Kingsley 

in  his  parish  to  become  an  inmate  of  the  work-house 
through  infirmity  or  old  age,  except  in  a few  cases  where 
want  had  been  the  direct  consequence  of  indolence  or 
crime.  At  times,  too,  other  poor  besides  those  of  his 
parish,  might  be  seen  at  his  door.  Gypsies  were  attracted 
to  him  from  all  the  country  round.  He  married  and  christ- 
ened many  of  them,  to  whom  such  rites  were  things  almost 
unknown.  I cannot  give  any  description  of  his  daily  life, 
his  parish  work,  which  will  not  sound  commonplace.  . . . 
But  there  never  was  a man  with  whom  life  was  less  monot- 
onous, with  whom  it  was  more  full  to  overflowing,  of  vari- 
ety, and  freshness.  Nothing  could  be  so  exquisitely 
delightful  as  a walk  with  him  about  his  parish.  Earth, 
air,  and  water,  as  well  as  farm-house  and  cottage,  seemed 
full  of  his  familiar  friends.  By  day  and  by  night,  in  fair 
weather  and  in  storm,  grateful  for  heat  and  cold,  rain  and 
sunshine,  light  and  soothing  darkness,  he  drank  in  nature. 
It  seemed  as  if  no  bird,  or  beast,  or  insect,  scarcely  a 
drifting  cloud  in  the  sky,  passed  by  him  unnoticed,  un- 
welcomed. He  caught  and  noted  every  breath,  every 
sound,  every  sign.  With  every  person  he  met  he  instinc- 
tively struck  some  point  of  contact,  found  something  to 
appreciate  — often,  it  might  be,  some  information  to  ask 
for  — which  left  the  other  cheered,  self-respecting,  raised 
for  the  moment  above  himself ; and  whatever  the  passing 
word  might  be,  it  was  given  to  high  or  low,  gentle  or 
simple,  with  an  appropriateness,  a force,  and  a genial 
courtesy,  in  the  case  of  all  women  a deferential  courtesy, 
which  threw  its  spell  over  all  alike,  a spell  which  few 
could  resist. 

“ So  many-sided  was  he  that  he  seemed  to  unite  in 
himself  more  types  and  varieties  of  mind  and  character, 
types  differing  as  widely  as  the  poet  from  the  man  of 
science,  or  the  mystic  from  the  soldier ; to  be  filled  with 
more  thoughts,  hopes,  fears,  interests,  aspirations,  tempta- 
tions than  could  co-exist  in  any  one  man,  all  subdued  or 
clenched  into  union  and  harmony  by  the  force  of  one 


26  I 


From  John  Martineau 

iron  will,  which  had  learnt  to  rule  after  many  a fierce  and 
bitter  struggle.  His  senses  were  acute  to  an  almost 
painful  degree.  The  sight  of  suffering,  the  foul  scent  of 
a sick-room  — well  used  as  he  was  to  both  — would 
haunt  him  for  hours.  For  with  all  his  man’s  strength 
there  was  a deep  vein  of  woman  in  him,  a nervous  sensi- 
tiveness, an  intensity  of  sympathy,  which  made  him  suffer 
when  others  suffered ; a tender,  delicate,  soothing  touch, 
which  gave  him  power  to  understand  and  reach  the 
heart ; to  call  out,  sometimes  almost  at  first  sight  (what 
he  of  all  men  least  sought),  the  inmost  confidences  of 
men  and  women  alike  in  all  classes  of  life.  And  he  had 
sympathy  with  all  moods  from  deepest  grief  to  lightest 
humor  — for  no  man  had  a keener,  quicker  perception 
of  the  humorous  side  of  anything — a love  and  ready 
word  of  praise  for  whatever  was  good  or  beautiful,  from  the 
greatest  to  the  least,  from  the  heroism  of  the  martyr  to  the 
shape  of  a good  horse,  or  the  folds  of  a graceful  dress. 
And  this  wide-reaching,  hearty  appreciation  made  a word 
of  praise  from  him  sweeter,  to  those  who  knew  him  well, 
than  volumes  of  commendation  from  all  the  world  besides. 

“ His  every  thought  and  word  was  penetrated  with  the 
belief,  the  full  assurance,  that  the  world  — the  world  of 
the  soldier  or  the  sportsman,  as  well  as  the  world  of  the 
student  or  the  theologian  — was  God’s  world,  and  that 
everything  which  He  had  made  was  good.  4 Hnmani 
nihil  a me  alienum  puto / he  said,  taught  by  his  wide 
human  sympathies,  and  encouraged  by  his  faith  in  the 
Incarnation.  And  so  he  rejected,  as  Pharisaic  and 
unchristian,  most  of  what  is  generally  implied  in  the  use 
of  such  words  as  4 carnal/  4 unconverted/  4 worldly/  and 
thereby  embraced  in  his  sympathy,  and  won  to  faith  and 
hope,  many  a struggling  soul,  many  a bruised  reed,  whom 
the  narrow  and  exclusive  ignorance  of  schools  and 
religionists  had  rejected. 

“No  human  being  but  was  sure  of  a patient,  interested 
hearer  in  him.  I have  seen  him  seat  himself,  hatless, 


262  Charles  Kingsley 

beside  a tramp  on  the  grass  outside  his  gate  in  his  eager- 
ness to  catch  exactly  ;what  he  had  to  say,  searching  him, 
as  they  sate,  in  his  keen  kindly  way  with  question  and 
look.  With  as  great  a horror  of  pauperism  and  alms- 
giving as  any  professed  political  economist,  it  was  in 
practice  very  hard  to  him  to  refuse  anyone.  The  sight 
of  unmistakable  misery,  however  caused,  covered,  to  him, 
the  multitude  of  sins.  I recollect  his  passing  backwards 
and  forwards  again  and  again  — the  strong  impulsive  will 
for  once  irresolute  — between  the  breakfast-room  and  a 
miserable  crying  woman  outside,  and  I cannot  forget, 
though  twenty-five  years  have  passed  since,  the  unutter- 
able look  of  pain  and  disgust  with  which,  when  he  had 
decided  to  refuse  the  request,  he  said,  ‘ Look  there  ! ’ 
as  he  pointed  to  his  own  well-furnished  table.  Nothing 
roused  him  to  anger  so  much  as  cant.  Once  a scoun- 
drel, on  being  refused,  and  thinking  that  at  a parsonage  and 
with  a parson  it  would  be  a successful  trick,  fell  on  his 
knees  on  the  door-step,  turned  up  the  whites  of  his  eyes 
and  began  the  disgusting  counterfeit  of  a prayer.  In  an 
instant  the  man  found  himself,  to  his  astonishment,  seized 
by  collar  and  wrist,  and  being  swiftly  thrust  towards  the 
gate,  with  a firm  grip  and  a shake  that  deprived  him  of 
all  inclination  to  resist,  or,  till  he  found  himself  safe 
outside  it,  even  to  remonstrate.  He  had  at  that  time 
great  physical  strength  and  activity,  and  an  impetuous, 
restless,  nervous  energy,  which  I have  never  seen  equalled. 
All  his  strength,  physical,  mental,  and  moral,  seemed  to 
find  expression  in  his  keen  gray  eyes,  which  gazed  with 
the  look  of  an  eagle,  from  under  massive  brows,  divided 
from  each  other  by  two  deep  perpendicular  furrows  — 
at  that  time,  together  with  the  two  equally  deep  lines 
from  nostril  to  mouth,  very  marked  features  in  his  face. 
One  day,  in  a neighbor’s  yard,  a large  savage  dog  flew 
out  at  him,  straining  at  its  chain.  He  walked  up  to  it, 
scolding  it  and  by  mere  force  of  eye,  voice,  and  gesture, 
drove  it  into  its  kennel,  close  to  which  he  stopped,  keep- 


From  John  Martineau  263 

ing  his  eye  on  the  cowed  animal,  as  it  growled  and 
moved  uneasily  from  side  to  side.  He  had  done  the 
same  thing  often  before,  and  even  pulled  an  infuriated 
dog  out  of  its  kennel  by  its  chain,  after  having  driven 
it  in. 

“ By  boyish  habits  and  tastes  a keen  sportsman,  the 
only  sport  he  ever  enjoyed  at  this  time  was  an  occasional 
day’s  trout  or  pike  fishing,  or  throwing  a fly  for  an  hour 
or  two  during  his  afternoon’s  walk  over  the  little  stream 
that  bounded  his  parish.  Hunting  he  had  none.  And 
in  later  years,  when  he  did  hunt  occasionally,  it  was 
generally  a matter  of  two  or  three  hours,  on  an  old  horse, 
taken  as  a relaxation  in  the  midst  of  work,  not,  as  with 
most  other  men,  as  a day's  work  in  itself.  Fond  as  he 
was  of  horses,  he  never  in  his  life  had  one  worth  fifty 
pounds,  so  little  self-indulgent  was  he. 

“Though  exercising  intense  self-control,  he  was  very 
restless  and  excitable.  Constant  movement  was  a relief 
and  almost  a necessity  to  him.  His  study  opened  by  a 
door  of  its  own  upon  the  garden,  and  most  of  his  sermons 
and  books  were  thought  out  and  composed  as  he  paced 
up  and  down  there,  at  all  hours  and  in  all  weathers,  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  generally  smoking  a long  clay 
pipe ; for  tobacco  had,  as  he  found  by  experience  — 
having  once  tried  a year’s  total  abstinence  from  it  — 
an  especially  soothing  beneficial  effect  upon  him.  He 
ate  hurriedly,  and  it  was  an  effort  to  him  to  sit  still 
through  a meal.  His  coat  frequently  had  a white  line 
across  the  back,  made  by  his  habit  of  leaning  against  the 
whitened  chimney-piece  of  the  dining-room  during  break- 
fast and  dinner. 

“ Of  society  he  had  then  very  little,  and  it  was  rarely 
and  unwillingly  that  he  passed  an  evening  away  from 
home.  He  did  not  seek  it,  and  it  had  not  yet  begun  to 
seek  him.  Indeed,  at  no  time  was  general  society  a 
congenial  element  to  him ; and  those  who  knew  him  only 
thus,  did  not  know  him  at  his  best.  A few  intimate 


264  Charles  Kingsley 

friends,  and  now  and  then  a stranger,  seeking  his  advice 
on  some  matter,  would  come  for  a night  or  a Sunday. 
Amongst  the  former,  and  honored  above  all,  was  Mr. 
Maurice.  One  of  his  visits  happened  at  a time  when  we 
had  been  startled  by  a burglary  and  murder  at  a parsonage 
a few  miles  off,  and  had  armed  ourselves  and  barricaded 
the  rambling  old  Rectory  in  case  of  an  attack.  In  the 
middle  of  the  night  an  attempt  was  made  to  force  open 
the  back  door,  which  roused  us  all,  and  we  rushed  down- 
stairs with  pistols,  guns,  and  blunderbuss,  to  expel  the 
thieves,  who,  however,  had  taken  alarm  and  made  off. 
Mr.  Maurice,  the  only  unarmed  and  the  coolest  man 
amongst  us,  was  quietly  going  out  alone,  in  the  pitch 
darkness,  into  the  garden  in  pursuit  of  them,  when  Mr. 
Kingsley  fortunately  came  upon  him  and  stopped  him ; 
and  the  two  passed  the  rest  of  the  night  together  talking 
over  the  study  fire  till  morning  came. 

“ Many  a one  has  cause  to  remember  that  Study,  its 
lattice  window  (in  later  years  altered  to  a bay),  its  great 
heavy  door,  studded  with  large  projecting  nails,  opening 
upon  the  garden ; its  brick  floor  covered  with  matting ; 
its  shelves  of  heavy  old  folios,  with  a fishing-rod,  or  land- 
ing-net, or  insect-net  leaning  against  them  : on  the  table, 
books,  writing-materials,  sermons,  manuscript,  proofs,  let- 
ters, reels,  feathers,  fishing-flies,  clay-pipes,  tobacco.  On 
the  mat,  perhaps  — the  brown  eyes  set  in  thick  yellow 
hair,  and  gently-agitated  tail,  asking  indulgence  for  the 
intrusion  — a long-bodied,  short-legged  Dandie  Dinmont 
Scotch  terrier,  wisest,  handsomest,  most  faithful,  most 
memorable  of  its  race.  When  the  rest  of  the  household 
went  to  bed,  he  would  ask  his  guest  in,  ostensibly  to 
smoke.  The  swing-door  would  be  flung  open  and  slam 
heavily  after  him,  as  it  always  did,  for  he  would  never 
stop  to  catch  and  close  it.  And  then  in  the  quiet  of 
night,  when  no  fresh  face  could  come,  no  interruption 
occur  to  distract  him,  he  would  give  himself  wholly  to  his 
guest,  taking  up  whatever  topic  the  latter  might  suggest, 


From  John  Martineau  265 

whatever  question  he  might  ask,  and  pouring  out  from 
the  full  stores  of  his  knowledge,  his  quick,  intuitive  saga- 
city, his  ready  sympathy.  Then  it  was,  far  more  than  in 
the  excitement  and  distraction  of  many  voices  and  many 
faces,  that  he  was  himself,  that  the  true  man  appeared ; 
and  it  was  at  times  such  as  these  that  he  came  to  be 
known  and  trusted  and  loved,  as  few  men  ever  have 
been,  as  no  man  has  been  whom  I ever  knew. 

u He  had  to  a wonderful  degree  the  power  of  abstrac- 
tion and  concentration,  which  enabled  him  to  arrange 
and  elaborate  a whole  sermon,  or  a chapter  of  a book, 
while  walking,  riding,  or  even  fly-fishing,  without  making 
a note,  so  as  to  be  able  on  his  return  to  write  or  dictate 
it  in  clear,  terse  language  as  fast  as  pen  could  move.  He 
would  read  a book  and  grasp  its  essential  part  thoroughly 
in  a time  so  short  that  it  seemed  impossible  that  his  eyes 
could  have  traversed  its  pages.  Compared  with  other 
men  who  have  written  or  thought  much,  he  worked  for 
few  hours  in  the  day,  and  without  much  system  or  regu- 
larity ; but  his  application  was  so  intense  that  the  strain 
upon  his  vital  powers  was  very  great.  Nor  when  he 
ceased  could  his  brain  rest.  Except  during  sleep, — and 
even  that  was  characteristic,  so  profound  was  it,  — repose 
seemed  impossible  to  him  for  body  or  mind.  So  that  he 
seemed  to  live  three  days,  as  it  were,  while  other  men 
were  living  one,  and  already  foresaw  that  there  would  be 
for  him  no  great  length  of  years. 

“ Connected  with  this  rapid  living  was  a certain  impa- 
tience of  trifles,  an  inaccuracy  about  details,  a haste  in 
drawing  conclusions,  a forgetfulness  of  times  and  seasons, 
and  of  words  lightly  spoken  or  written,  and  withal  an 
impulsive  and  almost  reckless  generosity,  and  fear  of 
giving  pain,  which  sometimes  placed  him  at  an  unfair 
disadvantage,  and  put  him  formally  in  the  wrong  when 
substantially  he  was  in  the  right.  It  led  him,  too,  to  take 
too  hastily  a favorable  estimate  of  almost  every  one  with 
whom  he  came  personally  into  contact,  so  that  he  was 


266  Charles  Kingsley 

liable  to  suffer  from  misplaced  confidence  : while  in  the 
petty  matters  of  daily  life  it  made  him  a bad  guardian  of 
his  own  interests,  and  but  for  the  wise  and  tender  assist- 
ance that  was  ever  at  his  side  would  almost  have  over- 
whelmed him  with  anxieties. 

“In  the  pulpit,  and  even  at  his  week-day  cottage- 
lectures,  where,  from  the  population  of  his  parish  being 
so  scattered,  he  had  sometimes  scarcely  a dozen  hearers, 
he  was  at  that  time  eloquent  beyond  any  man  I ever 
heard.  For  he  had  the  two  essential  constituents  of 
eloquence,  a strong  man’s  intensity  and  clearness  of  con- 
viction, and  a command  of  words,  not  easy  or  rapid,  but 
sure  and  unhesitating,  an  unfailing  instinct  for  the  one 
word,  the  most  concrete  and  pictorial,  the  strongest  and 
the  simplest,  which  expressed  his  thought  exactly.  Many 
have  since  then  become  familiar  with  his  preaching,  many 
more  with  his  published  sermons,  but  few  comparatively 
can  know  what  it  was  to  hear  him,  Sunday  after  Sunday, 
in  his  own  church  and  among  his  own  people,  not  preach 
only,  but  read,  or  rather  pray,  the  prayers  of  the  Church- 
service.  So  completely  was  he  in  harmony  with  these 
prayers,  so  fully  did  they  satisfy  him,  that  with  all  his 
exuberance  of  thought  and  imagination,  it  seemed  as  if 
for  him  there  was  nothing  to  be  asked  for  beyond  what 
they  asked  for.  So  that  in  his  cottage-lectures,  as  in  his 
own  household  worship,  where  he  was  absolutely  free  to 
use  any  words  he  chose,  I scarcely  ever  heard  him  use  a 
word  of  prayer  other  than  the  words  of  the  Prayer-book. 

“ In  conversation  he  had  a painful  hesitation  in  his 
speech,  but  in  preaching,  and  in  speaking  with  a set 
purpose,  he  was  wholly  free  from  it.  He  used  to  say 
that  he  could  speak  for  God  but  not  for  himself,  and 
took  the  trial  — and  to  his  keenly  sensitive  nature  it  was 
no  small  one  — patiently  and  even  thankfully,  as  having 
by  God’s  mercy  saved  him  from  many  a temptation  to 
mere  brilliancy  and  self-seeking.  The  successful  effort 
to  overcome  this  difficulty  increased  instead  of  diminish- 


From  John  Martineau  267 

ing  the  impressiveness  of  his  voice,  for  to  it  was  partly 
due  the  strange,  rich,  high-pitched,  musical  monotone  in 
which  he  prayed  and  preached,  the  echo  of  which,  as  it 
filled  his  church,  or  came  borne  on  the  air  through  the 
open  window  of  a sick  room,  seems  to  travel  over  the 
long  past  years  and  kindle  his  words  afresh,  as  I read 
them  in  the  cold,  dead  page. 

“ And  as  it  was  an  unspeakable  blessing  to  Eversley  to 
have  him  for  its  Rector,  so  also  it  was  an  inestimable 
benefit  to  him  to  have  had  so  early  in  life  a definite  work 
to  do  which  gave  to  his  generous,  sympathetic  impulses 
abundant  objects  and  responsibilities  and  a clear  purpose 
and  direction.  Conscious,  too,  as  he  could  not  but  be, 
of  great  powers,  and  impatient  of  dictation  or  control,  the 
repose  and  isolation  of  a country  parish  afforded  him  the 
best  and  healthiest  opportunities  of  development,  and  full 
liberty  of  thought  and  speech,  with  sufficient  leisure  for 
reading  and  study. 

s “ Great  as  was  his  love  of  natural  science,  in  so  many 
of  its  branches,  his  genius  was  essentially  that  of  a poet. 
Often  a time  of  trouble  and  sadness  — and  there  was  in 
him  a strong  undercurrent  of  sadness  at  all  times, — 
would  result  in  the  birth  of  a lyrical  poem  or  song,  on  a 
subject  wholly  unconnected  with  that  which  occupied 
him,  the  production  of  which  gave  him  evident  relief,  as 
though  in  some  mysterious  way  his  mind  was  thereby 
disburdened  and  set  free  for  the  reception  of  new 
thoughts  and  impressions.  I In  June,  1851,  he  preached 
a powerful  sermon  to  working  men  in  a London  church, 
which  was  denounced  by  the  incumbent.  It  was  a pain- 
ful scene,  which  narrowly  escaped  ending  in  a riot,  and 
he  felt  keenly  — not  the  insult  to  himself — but  the  dis- 
credit and  scandal  to  the  Church,  the  estrangement  that 
it  would  be  likely  to  increase  between  the  clergy  and  the 
working  men.  He  came  home  the  day  after,  wearied 
and  worn  out,  obliged  to  stop  to  rest  and  refresh  him- 
self at  a house  in  his  parish  during  his  afternoon’s  walk. 


268  Charles  Kingsley 

That  same  evening  he  brought  in  a song  that  he  had 
written,  the  ‘ Three  Fishers/  as  though  it  were  the  out- 
come of  it  all;  and  then  he  seemed  able  to  put  the  mat- 
ter aside,  and  the  current  of  his  daily  life  flowed  as 
before.  Not  that  he  at  this  time  — or  indeed  at  any 
time  — wrote  much  verse.  Considering  that  what  the 
world  needed  was  not  verse,  however  good,  so  much  as 
sound  knowledge,  sound  reasoning,  sound  faith,  and 
above  all,  as  the  fruit  and  evidence  of  the  last,  sound 
morality,  he  did  not  give  free  rein  to  his  poetical  faculty, 
but  sought  to  make  it  his  servant,  not  his  master,  to  use 
it  to  illuminate  and  fix  the  eyes  of  men  on  the  truths  of 
science,  of  social  relationship,  of  theology,  of  morality. 
The  letters  which  he  received  in  countless  numbers,  often 
from  utter  strangers  who  knew  nothing  of  him  but  from 
his  books,  seeking  counsel  on  the  most  delicate  and 
important  matters  of  life,  testify  how  great  a gift  it  was, 
how  truly  and  tellingly  it  was  used.  In  reading  all  his 
writings,  on  whatever  subject,  it  must  not  be  forgotten 
that  he  was  a poet,  — that  he  could  not  help  thinking, 
feeling,  and  writing  as  a poet.  Patience,  industry  he 
had,  even  logical  and  inductive  power  of  a certain  in- 
tuitive, intermittent  kind,  not  sustained,  indeed,  or  always 
reliable,  for  his  was  not  a logical  mind,  and  surface  incon- 
sistencies are  not  hard  to  find  in  his  writings ; but  as  a 
poet,  even  if  he  saw  all  sides,  he  could  not  express  them 
all  at  once.  The  very  keenness  of  his  sympathy,  the 
intensity  with  which  he  realized  all  that  was  passing 
around  him,  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  maintain  the 
calm  unruffled  judgment  of  men  of  a less  fiery  tempera- 
ment, or  to  abstract  and  devote  himself  to  the  pursuit  of 
any  one  branch  of  study  without  being  constantly  dis- 
tracted from  it,  and  urged  in  some  new  direction  by  the 
joys  and  sorrows  of  the  surging  world  around,  to  seek  if 
by  any  means  he  might  find  a medicine  to  heal  its  sick- 
ness. Hence  it  may,  perhaps,  be  that  another  genera- 
tion will  not  fully  realize  the  wide-spread  influence,  the 


From  John  Martineau  269 

great  power,  he  exercised  through  his  writings.  For,  in 
a sense,  it  may  be  said  that,  as  to  some  of  them,  not 
their  least  merit  is  that  in  part  they  will  not  live,  except 
as  the  seed  lives  in  the  corn  which  grows,  or  water  in  the 
plant  which  it  has  revived.  For  their  power  often  lay 
mainly  in  the  direction  of  their  aim  at  the  special  need  of 
the  hour,  the  memory  of  which  has  passed,  or  will  pass, 
away.  As  his  ‘ Master,’  as  he  affectionately  and  humbly 
called  Mr.  Maurice,  was  a theologian,  and,  in  its  original 
sense,  a ‘ Prophet,’  so  Mr.  Kingsley,  as  Priest  and  Poet, 
gloried  in  interpreting,  expanding,  applying  him.  4 1 
think  this  will  explain  a good  deal  of  Maurice,’  was  the 
single  remark  I heard  him  make  when  he  had  completed 
4 Yeast.’ 

“In  later  years,  as  his  experience  widened,  his  judg- 
ment ripened,  his  conclusions  were  more  calmly  formed. 
But  his  genius  was  essentially  of  a kind  that  comes  to 
maturity  early,  when  the  imagination  is  still  vivid,  the 
pulses  of  life  beat  fastest,  and  the  sympathies  and  affec- 
tions are  most  passionately  intense.  . . . With  the  great 
outside  world,  with  the  world  of  politicians  and  the  press, 
and  still  more  with  the  religious  world,  so  called,  as  rep- 
resented by  the  religious  newspapers,  he  was  in  those 
years  at  open  war.  Popular  as  he  afterwards  became,  it 
is  difficult  now  to  realize  how  great  was  the  suspicion, 
how  bitter  the  attacks,  especially  from  the  religious  news- 
papers, which  his  books  and  sermons  drew  down  upon 
him.  Not  that  he  in  general  cared  much  for  praise  or 
blame  from  the  newspaper  press,  so  venal  and  unprin- 
cipled did  he  — not  without  reason  — consider  most  of 
it,  Whig,  Tory,  Radical,  and  religious.  At  that  time  he 
did  not  take  in  any  daily  paper. 

“ It  was  then  about  two  years  after  the  events  of  1848, 
and  for  him  the  one  all-important  and  absorbing  ques- 
tion of  politics  was  the  condition,  physical  and  mental, 
of  the  working  classes  and  the  poor  in  town  and  country. 
On  that  question  he  considered  that  all  the  leading 


270  Charles  Kingsley 

parties  of  the  legislature  had  alike  shown  themselves  in- 
different and  incapable.  This  conviction,  and  a deep 
sympathy  with  the  suffering  poor,  had  made  him  a 
Radical.  Nay,  on  at  least  one  occasion,  he  publicly  and 
deliberately  declared  himself  a Chartist  — a name  which 
then  meant  a great  deal  — and  for  a clergyman  to  do 
this  was  an  act  the  boldness  of  which  it  is  difficult  to 
appreciate  now.  . . . 

“ Looking  back  upon  his  daily  life  and  conversation 
at  that  time,  I believe  he  was  democratic  in  his  opinions 
rather  than  in  his  instincts,  more  by  force  of  conviction 
than  by  natural  inclination.  A doctrinaire,  or  a lover  of 
change  for  the  sake  of  change,  he  never  was ; and  when 
he  advocated  democratic  measures,  it  was  more  as  a 
means  to  an  end  than  because  he  altogether  liked  the 
means.  From  the  pulpit,  and  with  his  pen,  he  claimed 
brotherhood  with  all  men.  No  man  in  his  daily  inter- 
course respected  with  more  scrupulous  courtesy  the 
rights,  the  dignity  of  the  humblest.  But  he  instinctively 
disliked  a ‘ beggar  on  horseback.’  Noblesse  oblige , the 
true  principle  of  feudalism,  is  a precept  which  shines  out 
conspicuously  in  all  his  books,  in  all  his  teaching,  at  this 
period  of  his  life  as  at  all  others. 

“ In  later  years  his  convictions  became  more  in  accord 
with  this  natural  tendency  of  his  mind,  and  he  gradually 
modified  or  abandoned  his  democratic  opinions,  thereby, 
of  course,  drawing  down  upon  himself  the  reproach  of 
inconsistency  from  those  who  considered  that  he  had 
deserted  them.  To  me,  looking  back  at  what  he  was 
when  he  wrote  ‘ Yeast/  and  ‘ Alton  Locke/  the  change 
seems  rather  the  natural  development  of  his  mind  and 
character  under  more  or  less  altered  circumstances,  partly 
because  he  saw  the  world  about  him  really  improving, 
partly  because  by  experience  he  found  society  and  other 
existing  institutions  more  full  of  healthy  life,  more  avail- 
able as  instruments  of  good,  more  willing  to  be  taught, 
than  he  had  formerly  thought.  But,  at  that  time,  in  his 


From  John  Martineau  271 

books  and  pamphlets,  and  often  in  his  daily  familiar 
speech,  he  was  pouring  out  the  whole  force  of  his  eager, 
passionate  heart,  in  wrath  and  indignation,  against  star- 
vation wages,  stifling  workshops,  reeking  alleys,  careless 
landlords,  roofless  and  crowded  cottages,  hard  and  cant- 
ing religion.  His  4 Poacher’s  Widow  ’ is  a piercing, 
heart-rending  cry  to  heaven  for  vengeance  against  the 
oppressor.  4 There  is  a righteous  God,’  is  its  burthen, 
4 and  such  things  cannot,  and  shall  not,  remain  to  deface 
the  world  which  He  has  made.  Laws,  constitutions, 
churches,  are  none  of  His  if  they  tolerate  such ; they  are 
accursed,  and  they  must  perish  — destroy  what  they 
may  in  their  fall.  Nay,  they  will  perish  in  their  own 
corruption.’ 

“ One  day,  as  he  was  reading  with  me,  something  led 
him  to  tell  me  of  the  Bristol  Riots  of  1832.  He  was  in 
that  year  a schoolboy  of  thirteen,  at  Bristol,  and  had 
slipped  away,  fascinated  by  the  tumult  and  the  horror, 
into  the  midst  of  it.  He  described  — rapidly  pacing  up 
and  down  the  room,  and,  with  glowing,  saddened  face,  as 
though  the  sight  were  still  before  his  eyes  — the  brave, 
patient  soldiers  sitting  hour  after  hour  motionless  on  their 
horses,  the  blood  streaming  from  wounds  on  their  heads 
and  faces,  waiting  for  the  order  which  the  miserable, 
terrified  mayor  had  not  courage  to  give ; the  savage, 
brutal,  hideous  mob  of  inhuman  wretches  plundering, 
destroying,  burning ; casks  of  spirits  broken  open  and 
set  flowing  in  the  streets,  the  wretched  creatures  drinking 
it  on  their  knees  from  the  gutter,  till  the  flame  from  a 
burning  house  caught  the  stream,  ran  down  it  with  a hor- 
rible rushing  sound,  and,  in  one  dreadful  moment,  the 
prostrate  drunkards  had  become  a row  of  blackened 
corpses.  Lastly,  he  spoke  of  the  shamelessness  and  the 
impunity  of  the  guilty ; the  persecution  and  the  suicide 
of  the  innocent.  ‘That  sight,’  he  said,  suddenly  turning 
to  me,  4 made  me  a Radical.’  4 Whose  fault  is  it,’  I ven- 
tured to  ask,  4 that  such  things  can  be  ? ’ 4 Mine,’  he 


272  Charles  Kingsley 

said,  ‘ and  yours.*  I understood  partly  then,  I have 
understood  better  since,  what  his  Radicalism  was. 

“ From  his  home  life  I scarcely  dare,  even  for  a mo- 
ment, try  to  lift  the  veil.  I will  only  say  that  having  had 
the  priceless  blessing  of  admission  to  it,  the  daily  sight  of 
him  in  the  closest  of  his  home  relations  has  left  me  a 
deeper  debt  of  gratitude,  and  more  precious  memories, 
created  higher  hopes  and  a higher  ideal,  than  all  other 
manifestations  combined  of  his  character  and  intellect. 
To  his  marriage  — so  he  never  shrunk  from  affirming  in 
deep  and  humble  thankfulness  — he  owed  the  whole 
tenor  of  his  life,  all  that  he  had  worth  living  for.  It  was 
true.  And  his  every  word  and  look,  and  gesture  of 
chivalrous  devotion  for  more  than  thirty  years,  seemed 
to  show  that  the  sense  of  boundless  gratitude  had  become 
part  of  his  nature,  was  never  out  of  the  undercurrent  of 
his  thoughts.  Little  thinking  that  he  was  to  be  taken 
first,  and  with  the  prospect  of  a long  agony  of  loneliness 
imminent  from  hour  to  hour,  the  last  flash  of  genius  from 
his  breaking  heart  was  to  gather  into  three  simple,  preg- 
nant words,  as  a last  offering  to  her,  the  whole  story  of 
his  life,  of  the  Faith  he  preached  and  lived  in,  of  his 
marriage,  blessed,  and  yet  to  be  blessed.  He  was  spa; ed 
that  agony.  Over  his  grave  first  are  written  his  words : 

‘ Amavimus , amamus , amabimus ” 1 
1 We  have  loved  — we  love  — we  shall  love. 


CHAPTER  X 


1852 


Aged  33 


Correspondence — Strike  in  the  Iron  Trade — Letters 
on  Political  Parties,  on  Prayer,  on  Metaphysical 
Questions — Parson  Lot’s  Last  Words  — Letters  to 
Mr.  Ludlow  — Hexameters  — Poetry  — Frederika 
Bremer  — Sunday  Amusements  — To  a Jew. 

“ I do  not  like  to  decline  bearing  my  share  of  the  odium,  think- 
ing that  what  many  men  call  ‘ caution  ’ in  such  matters,  is  too 
often  merely  a selfish  fear  of  getting  oneself  into  trouble  or  ill- 
will.  I am  quite  sure  that  I would  never  gratuitously  court 
odium  or  controversy,  but  I must  beware  also  of  too  much  dread- 
ing it;  and  the  love  of  ease  ...  is  likely  to  be  a more  growing 
temptation  than  the  love  of  notoriety  or  the  pleasure  of 
argument.” 


HE  short  holiday  of  the  past  year  had  so  far 


invigorated  him  that  he  worked  without  a 
curate  for  a time.  The  literary  work  was  ham- 
pered by  the  heavy  correspondence,  principally 
with  strangers,  who  little  knew  what  labor  each 
letter  cost  him,  but  to  whom  he  said:  “ Never 
apologize  for  writing.  This  is  my  business,  and 
I learn  from  the  many  such  letters  I have,  far  more 
than  I teach.  I consider  myself  indebted  most 
deeply  to  any  man  who  will  honestly  tell  me  the 
workings  of  his  own  mind.  How  can  a physician 
learn  pathology  without  studying  cases  ? ” One 
very  valuable  series  of  letters  to  the  son  of  a 
vol.  1.  — 18 


Dr.  Arnold. 


274  Charles  Kingsley 

clergyman,  a young  man  of  atheistical  opinions, 
who  died  a professed  Christian,  was  by  the  wish 
of  their  owner  destroyed  at  his  death,  as  referring 
to  a phase  in  his  life  which  it  would  be  painful  to 
his  family  to  recall.  Extracts  will  be  made  from 
another  series,  to  Thomas  Cooper  the  Chartist, 
which  spread  over  this  and  several  years.  His 
literary  work  consisted  of  “Hypatia,”  “Phaeton,” 
and  several  magazine  articles.  In  the  summer 
he  amused  himself  by  trying  his  hand  at  hexame- 
ters, and  began  “Andromeda.”  His  parish  work 
prevented  his  helping  personally  in  the  Co- 
operative Movement  in  London ; but  he  was  con- 
sulted from  time  to  time  by  the  Council  of 
Promoters,  and  in  the  great  lock-out  of  the  Iron 
Trade  in  January  he  wrote  a letter  which  “will 
show,”  as  Mr.  Hughes  truly  says,  “how  far 
Kingsley  was  an  encourager  of  violent  measures 
or  views.” 

Eversley:  January  28,  1852.  — “You  may  have 
been  surprised,  dear  Tom,  at  my  having  taken  no  part  in 
this  Amalgamated  Iron  Trades’  matter.  And  I think 
that  I am  bound  to  say  why  I have  not,  and  how  far  I 
wish  my  friends  to  interfere  in  it.  I do  think  that  we,  the 
Council  of  Promoters,  shall  not  be  wise  in  interfering  be- 
tween masters  and  men ; because  — 1.  I question  whether 
the  points  at  issue  between  them  can  be  fairly  understood 
by  any  persons  not  conversant  with  the  practical  details 
of  the  trade.  . . . 

“ 2.  Nor  do  I think  they  have  put  their  case  as  well  as 
they  might.  For  instance,  if  it  be  true  that  they  them- 
selves have  invented  many,  or  most,  of  the  improvements 
in  their  tools  and  machinery,  they  have  an  argument  in 
favor  of  keeping  out  unskilled  laborers,  which  is  unan- 
swerable, and  yet  what  they  have  never  used  — viz. : 


Strike  in  the  Iron  Trade  275 

4 Your  masters  make  hundreds  and  thousands  by  these 
improvements,  while  we  have  no  remuneration  for  this 
inventive  talent  of  ours,  but  rather  lose  by  it,  because  it 
makes  the  introduction  of  unskilled  labor  more  easy0 
Therefore  the  only  way  in  which  we  can  get  anything  like 
a payment  for  this  inventive  faculty  of  which  we  make 
you  a present  over  and  above  our  skilled  labor,  for  which 
you  bargained,  is  to  demand  that  we,  who  invent  the  ma- 
chines, if  we  cannot  have  a share  in  the  profits  of  them, 
shall  at  least  have  the  exclusive  privilege  of  using  them, 
instead  of  their  being,  as  now,  turned  against  us.’  That, 
I think,  is  a fair  argument ; but  I have  seen  nothing  of  it 
from  any  speaker  or  writer. 

44  3.  I think  whatever  battle  is  fought,  must  be  fought 
by  the  men  themselves.  The  present  dodge  of  the  Man- 
chester School  is  to  cry  out  against  us,  as  Greg  did, 4 These 
Christian  Socialists  are  a set  of  mediaeval  parsons,  who 
want  to  hinder  the  independence  and  self-help  of  the 
men,  and  bring  them  back  to  absolute  feudal  maxims ; * 
and  then,  with  the  most  absurd  inconsistency,  when  we 
get  up  a Co-operative  workshop,  to  let  the  men  work  on 
the  very  independence  and  self-help  of  which  they  talk  so 
fine,  they  turn  round  and  raise  just  the  opposite  yell,  and 
cry,  4 The  men  can’t  be  independent  of  capitalists  ; these 
associations  will  fail  because  the  men  are  helping  them- 
selves ’ — showing  that  what  they  mean  is,  that  the  men 
shall  be  independent  of  every  one  but  themselves  — inde- 
pendent of  legislators,  parsons,  advisers,  gentlemen,  noble- 
men, and  every  one  that  tries  to  help  them  by  moral 
agents ; but  the  slaves  of  the  capitalists,  bound  to  them 
by  a servitude  increasing  instead  of  lightening  with  their 
numbers.  Now,  the  only  way  in  which  we  can  clear  the 
cause  of  this  calumny,  is  to  let  the  men  fight  their  own 
battle;  to  prevent  anyone  saying,  4 These  men  are  the 
tools  of  dreamers  and  fanatics/  which  would  be  just  as 
ruinously  blackening  to  them  in  the  public  eyes,  as  it 
would  be  to  let  the  cry  get  abroad,  4 This  is  a Socialist 


276  Charles  Kingsley 

movement  destructive  of  rights  of  property,  Communism, 
Louis  Blanc,  and  the  devil,  etc.’  You  know  the  infernal 
stuff  which  the  devil  gets  up  on  such  occasions,  — having 
no  scruples  about  calling  himself  hard  names  when  it 
suits  his  purpose,  to  blind  and  frighten  respectable  old 
women.  Moreover,  these  men  are  not  poor  distressed 
needlewomen  or  slop-workers.  They  are  the  most  intel- 
ligent and  best-educated  workmen,  receiving  incomes 
often  higher  than  a gentleman’s  son  whose  education  has 
cost  ^1000  ; and  if  they  can’t  fight  their  own  battles,  no 
men  in  England  can,  and  the  people  are  not  ripe  for  as- 
sociation, and  we  must  hark  back  into  the  competitive 
rot  heap  again.  All,  then,  that  we  can  do  is,  to  give  ad- 
vice when  asked,  — to  see  that  they  have,  as  far  as  we  can 
get  at  them,  a clear  stage  and  no  favor,  but  not  by  public, 
but  by  private  influence. 

“ But  we  can  help  them  in  another  way,  by  showing 
them  the  way  to  associate.  That  is  quite  a distinct  ques- 
tion from  their  quarrel  with  their  masters,  and  we  shall 
be  very  foolish  if  we  give  the  press  a handle  for  mixing  up 
the  two.  We  have  a right  to  say  to  masters,  men,  and 
public,  ‘ We  know,  and  care  nothing  about  the  iron  strike. 
Here  are  a body  of  men  coming  to  us,  wishing  to  be 
shown  how  to  do  that  which  is  a right  thing  for  them  to 
do,  — well  or  ill  off,  strike  or  no  strike,  namely,  associate  ; 
and  we  will  help  and  teach  them  to  do  that  to  the  very 
utmost  of  our  power.’ 

“ The  Iron  Workers’  co-operative  shops  will  be  watched 
with  lynx  eyes,  calumniated  shamelessly.  Our  business 
will  be  to  tell  the  truth  about  them,  and  fight  manfully 
with  our  pens  for  them.  But  we  shall  never  be  able  to 
get  the  ears  of  the  respectabilities  and  the  capitalists,  if 
we  appear  at  this  stage  of  the  business.  What  we  must 
say  is,  ‘ If  you  are  needy  and  enslaved,  we  will  fight  for 
you  from  pity,  whether  you  be  associated  or  competitive. 
But  you  are  neither  needy,  nor,  unless  you  choose, 
enslaved ; and  therefore  we  will  only  fight  for  you  in 


On  Political  Parties 


277 

proportion  as  you  become  associates.  Do  that,  and  see  if 
we  can’t  stand  hard  knocks  for  your  sake.’  ” 

A few  months  later,  having  heard  that  a bill 
for  legalizing  industrial  association  was  about  to 
be  introduced  into  the  House  of  Commons,  and 
that  a cabinet  minister  might  undertake  it,  he 
writes  to  Mr.  Hughes: 

“ Let  him  be  assured  that  he  will  by  such  a move  do 
more  to  carry  out  true  conservatism,  and  to  reconcile  the 
workmen  with  the  real  aristocracy,  than  any  politician  for 
the  last  twenty  years  has  done.  The  truth  is,  we  are  in  a 
critical  situation,  here  in  England.  Not  in  one  of  danger 
— which  is  the  vulgar,  material  notion  of  a crisis,  but  at 
the  crucial  point,  the  point  of  departure  of  principles  and 
parties  which  will  hereafter  become  great  and  powerful. 
Old  Whiggery  is  dead,  old  true  blue  Toryism  of  the  Rob- 
ert Inglis  school  is  dead,  too,  — and  in  my  eyes  a great 
loss.  But  as  live  dogs  are  better  than  dead  lions,  let  us 
see  what  the  live  dogs  are. 

“ i.  — The  Peelites,  who  will  ultimately,  be  sure,  absorb 
into  themselves  all  the  remains  of  Whiggery,  and  a very 
large  proportion  of  the  Conservative  party.  In  an  effete 
unbelieving  age,  like  this,  the  Sadducee  and  the  Herodian 
will  be  the  most  captivating  philosopher.  A scientific  lazi- 
ness, lukewarmness,  and  compromise  is  a cheery  theory 
for  the  young  men  of  the  day,  and  they  will  take  to  it  con 
amore . I don’t  complain  of  Peel  himself.  He  was  a 
great  man,  but  his  method  of  compromise,  though  useful 
enough  in  particular  cases  when  employed  by  a great  man, 
becomes  a most  dastardly  ‘ schema  mundi ’ when  taken  up 
by  a school  of  little  men.  Therefore,  the  only  help  which 
we  can  hope  for  from  the  Peelites  is,  that  they  will  serve 
as  ballast  and  cooling  pump  to  both  parties ; but  their 
very  trimming  and  moderation  make  them  fearfully  likely 
to  obtain  power.  It  depends  on  the  wisdom  of  the 
present  government,  whether  they  do  or  not. 


278  Charles  Kingsley 

“ 2.  — Next  you  have  the  Manchester  School,  from 
whom  Heaven  defend  us.  . . . To  pretend  to  be  the 
workmen’s  friends,  by  keeping  down  the  price  of  bread, 
when  all  they  want  thereby  is  to  keep  down  wages  and 
increase  profits,  and  in  the  mean  time  to  widen  the  gulf 
between  the  working  man  and  all  that  is  time-honored, 
refined,  and  chivalrous  in  English  society,  that  they  may 
make  the  men  their  divided  slaves,  that  is  — perhaps  half 
unconsciously,  for  there  are  excellent  men  amongst  them 

— the  game  of  the  Manchester  School. 

“ . . . I have  never  swerved  from  my  one  idea  of  the  last 
seven  years,  that  the  real  battle  of  the  time  is  — if  England 
is  to  be  saved  from  anarchy  and  unbelief,  and  utter  exhaus- 
tion caused  by  the  competitive  enslavement  of  the  masses 

— not  Radical  or  Whig  against  Peelite  or  Tory  (let  the 
dead  bury  their  dead),  but  the  Church,  the  gentleman,  and 
the  workman,  against  the  shop-keepers  and  the  Manches- 
ter School.  The  battle  could  not  have  been  fought  forty 
years  ago,  because,  on  one  side,  the  Church  was  an  idle 
phantasm,  the  gentleman  too  ignorant,  the  workman  too 
merely  animal ; while,  on  the  other,  the  Manchester  cotton- 
spinners  were  all  Tories,  and  the  shop-keepers  were  a 
distinct  class  interest  from  theirs.  But  now  these  two 
latter  have  united,  and  the  sublime  incarnation  of  shop- 
keeping and  labor-buying  in  the  cheapest  market  shines 
forth  in  the  person  of  Nebuchadnezzar  and  Son,  and  both 
cotton-spinners  and  shop-keepers  say,  ‘ This  is  the  man  ! ? 
and  join  in  one  common  press  to  defend  his  system.  Be 
it  so  : now  we  know  our  true  enemies,  and  soon  the  work- 
ing men  will  know  them  also.  But  if  the  present  Minis- 
try will  not  see  the  possibility  of  a coalition  between  them 
and  the  workmen,  I see  no  alternative  but  just  what  we 
have  been  straining  every  nerve  to  keep  off — a competi- 
tive United  States,  a democracy  before  which  the  work 
of  ages  will  go  down  in  a few  years.  A true  democracy, 
such  as  you  and  I should  wish  to  see,  is  impossible  with- 
out a Church  and  a Queen,  and,  as  I believe,  without  a 


On  Prayer  279 

gentry.  On  the  conduct  of  statesmen  it  will  depend 
whether  we  are  gradually  and  harmoniously  to  develop 
England  on  her  ancient  foundations,  or  whether  we  are  to 
have  fresh  paralytic  governments  succeeding  each  other 
in  doing  nothing,  while  the  workmen  and  the  Manchester 
School  fight  out  the  real  questions  of  the  day  in  ignorance 
and  fury,  till  ‘ culbute  generale  ’ comes,  and  gentlemen  of 
ancient  family  betake  themselves  to  Canada,  to  escape, 
not  the  Amalgamated  Engineers,  but  their  ‘ masters/  and 
the  slop-working  savages  whom  their  masters’  system  has 
created,  and  will  by  that  time  have  multiplied  tenfold.” 


TO  LORD  

April  25,  1852.  — “I  am  answering  your  letter,  only 
just  received,  I fear  at  a disadvantage ; for  first,  you  seem 
to  fancy  me  an  older  man  than  I am.  I am  only  two-and- 
thirty;  and  shall  not  be  surprised  if  you  or  any  other 
person  consider  me  on  further  enquiry  too  young  to 
advise  them. 

“ Next,  I have  not  knowledge  enough  of  you  to  give 
such  advice  as  would  be  best  for  you.  I have  no  nostrum 
for  curing  self-will  and  self-seeking ; I am  aware  of  none. 
It  is  a battle,  I suspect  a life-long  battle,  which  each  man 
must  fight  for  himself,  and  each  in  his  own  way,  and 
against  his  own  private  house-fiend,  — for  in  each  man 
the  evil  of  self-seeking  takes  a different  form.  It  must  do 
so,  if  you  consider  what  it  is.  Self  is  not  evil,  because 
self  is  you,  whom  God  made,  and  each  man’s  self  is  differ- 
ent from  his  neighbors.  Now  God  does  not  make  evil 
things,  therefore  He  has  not  made  self  evil  or  wrong ; 
but  you,  or  self,  are  only  wrong  in  proportion  as  you  try 
to  be  something  in  and  for  yourself,  and  not  the  child  of 
a father,  the  servant  of  a lord,  the  soldier  of  a general. 
So  it  seems  to  me.  The  fault  of  each  man  who  thinks 
and  studies  as  you  seem  to  have  done,  in  the  confession 
with  which  you  have  honored  me,  is  the  old  fault  of  Luci- 


28 o Charles  Kingsley 

fer.  The  planet  is  not  contented  with  being  a planet ; it 
must  be  a sun ; and  forthwith  it  falls  from  heaven.  I 
have  no  nostrum  for  keeping  the  planet  in  its  orbit.  It 
must  keep  there  itself  and  obey  the  law  which  was  given 
it,  and  do  the  work  which  it  was  set  to  do,  and  then  all 
will  be  well.  Else  it  will  surely  find,  by  losing  the  very 
brightness  in  which  it  gloried,  that  that  brightness  was 
not  its  own  but  a given  and  reflected  one,  which  is  not 
withdrawn  from  it  as  an  arbitrary  punishment  for  its  self- 
seeking,  but  is  lost  by  it  necessarily,  and  ipso  facto , when 
it  deflects  from  the  orbit  in  which  alone  the  sun’s  rays 
can  strike  full  on  it.  You  will  say,  this  is  a pretty  myth 
or  otherwise.  ...  You  have  said  boldly,  in  words  which 
pleased  me  much,  though  I differ  from  them,  — that  I 
ought  not  to  ask  you  to  try  to  cure  self-seeking  by  idle 
prayer,  — as  if  a man  by  taking  thought  could  add  one 
cubit  to  his  stature.  I was  pleased  with  the  words ; be- 
cause they  show  me  that  you  have  found  that  there  is  a 
sort  of  prayer  which  is  idle  prayer,  and  that  you  had  sooner 
not  pray  at  all  than  in  that  way.  Now  of  idle  prayer  I 
think  there  are  two  kinds  : one  of  fetish  prayer,  when  by 
praying  we  seek  to  alter  the  will  of  God  concerning  us. 
This  is,  and  has  been,  and  will  be  common  enough  and 
idle  enough.  For  if  the  will  of  Him  concerning  us  be 
good,  why  should  we  alter  it?  If  bad,  what  use  praying 
to  such  a Being  at  all?  Prometheus  does  not  pray  to 
Zeus,  but  curses  and  endures.  Another,  of  praying  to 
oneself  to  change  oneself ; by  which  I mean  the  common 
method  of  trying  by  prayer  to  excite  oneself  into  a state, 
a frame,  an  experience.  This,  too,  is  common  enough 
among  Protestants  and  Papists,  as  well  as  among  Unitari- 
ans and  Rationalists.  Indeed,  some  folks  tell  us  that  the 
great  use  of  prayer  is  4 its  reflex 9 action  on  ourselves,  and 
inform  us  that  we  can  thus  by  taking  thought  add  certain 
cubits  to  our  stature.  God  knows  the  temptation  to  be- 
lieve it  is  great.  I feel  it  deeply.  Nevertheless  I am  not 
of  that  belief ; nor,  I think,  are  you.  But  if  there  were 


28i 


On  Prayer 

a third  kind  of  prayer,  — the  kind  which  is  set  forth  to  us 
in  the  Lords  Prayer  as  the  only  one  worth  anything,  — a 
prayer,  not  that  God’s  will  concerning  us  or  any  one  else 
may  be  altered,  but  that  it  may  be  done  ; that  we  may  be 
kept  out  of  all  evil  and  delivered  from  all  temptation  which 
may  prevent  our  doing  it ; that  we  may  have  the  aprov 
iiTLova-Lov  given  to  us  in  body,  soul,  spirit,  and  circum- 
stance, which  will  just  enable  us  to  do  it  and  no  more  ; 
that  the  name  of  Him  to  whom  we  pray  may  be  hallowed, 
felt  to  be  as  noble  and  sacred  as  it  is,  and  acted  on  ac- 
cordingly. And  if  that  name  were  the  simple  name  of 
Father,  does  it  not  seem  that  prayer  of  that  kind  — the 
prayer,  not  of  a puling  child  but  of  a full-grown  or  grow- 
ing son,  to  his  father ; a prayer  to  be  taught  duty,  to  be 
disciplined  into  obedience,  to  be  given  strength  of  will, 
noble  purpose,  carelessness  of  self,  delight  in  the  will  and 
the  purpose  of  his  father  — would  be  the  very  sort  of 
prayer  which  — supposing  always,  as  I do  from  ten  years’ 
experience,  that  Father  to  exist,  and  to  hear,  and  to  love, 
and  to  have  prepared  good  works  for  us  to  walk  in,  — to 
each  man  his  own  work,  and  his  own  education  for  that 
work,  — does  it  not  seem  to  you,  I say,  granting  the  hy- 
pothesis, that  that  would  be  a sort  of  prayer  which  would 
mightily  help  a man  striving  to  get  rid  of  his  self-seeking, 
and  to  recover  his  God-appointed  place  in  the  order  of 
the  universe,  and  use,  in  that  place,  the  attainments  which 
his  Father  has  given  him  to  be  used?  It  seems  to  me 
that  such  a man  might  look  up  to  God  and  feel  himself 
most  strong  when  he  was  confessing  his  own  weakness, 
and  then  look  down  at  himself  and  all  his  learning,  and 
see  that  he  was  most  weak  when  he  was  priding  himself 
on  his  own  strength,  — that  such  a man  would  be  certain 
of  having  his  prayers  for  light,  strength,  unselfishness,  an- 
swered, because  then,  indeed,  his  will  would  be  working 
with  God’s  will.  He  would  be  claiming  to  be  a fellow- 
worker  with  God ; to  be  a son  going  about  his  father’s 
business,  — in  deep  shame  and  sorrow,  no  doubt,  for  hav- 


282  Charles  Kingsley 

ing  stolen  God's  tools,  to  use  for  his  own  aggrandizement 
for  so  long,  but  with  no  Papist  (or  rather  Jesuit)  notion 
of  making  a sacrifice  to  God  — giving  a present  to  Him 
who  has  already  given  to  us  what  we  pretend  to  make  a 
merit  of  giving  Him.  And  such  a man,  it  seems  to  me, 
would  have  no  difficulty  in  finding  out  what  God  intended 
him  to  do ; for  if  he  really  believed  himself  a son,  under 
a Father’s  education,  he  would  believe  everything  which 
happened  to  be  a part  of  that  education  — every  oppor- 
tunity of  doing  good,  trivial  as  well  as  grand,  a duty  set 
him  by  his  Father  to  do.  He  would  not  be  tempted  to 
rush  forth  fanatically  from  the  place  where  God  had  put 
him,  to  try  some  mighty  act  of  self-sacrifice.  If  the  thing 
which  lay  nearest  him  was  the  draining  of  a bog,  or  the 
giving  employment  to  a pauper,  or  the  reclaiming  of  a 
poacher,  he  would  stay  where  God  had  put  him  and  try 
to  do  it ; and  believe  that  God  had  given  him  his  nobil- 
ity, or  his  learning,  or  his  gentleman’s  culture,  just  that  he 
might  be  able  the  better  to  do  that  part  of  his  father’s 
business  there  and  then  and  no  other.  He  would  con- 
sider over  what  he  knew,  what  he  could  do,  and  would 
determine  to  make  all  his  studies,  all  his  self-training  bear 
upon  the  peculiar  situation  in  which  God  had  put  him  ; 
not  fanatically  reprobating,  but  still  considering  as  of  less 
importance  whatsoever  did  not  bear  on  that  situation. 
In  all  things,  in  short,  he  would  do  the  duty  which  lay 
nearest  him,  believing  that  God  had  put  it  nearest  him. 

“ And  such  a man,  I believe,  so  praying  and  so  work- 
ing, keeping  before  him  as  his  lode-star  — * Our  Father, 
hallowed  be  Thy  name  ; Thy  kingdom  come ; Thy  will 
be  done  on  earth,  as  it  is  in  heaven ! ’ and  asking  for  his 
daily  bread  for  that  purpose,  and  no  other,  would  find, 
unless  I am  much  mistaken,  selfishness  and  self-seeking 
die  out  of  him,  and  active  benevolence  grow  up  in  him. 
He  would  find  trains  of  thought  and  subjects  of  inquiry 
which  he  had  pursued  for  his  private  pleasure,  not  to 
mention  past  sorrows  and  falls,  turned  unexpectedly  to 


On  Metaphysical  Questions  283 

practical  use  for  others’  good;  and  so  discover  to  his 
delight  that  his  Father  had  been  educating  him,  while  he 
fancied  that  he  was  educating  himself.  And  while  he 
was  so  working,  and  so  praying,  he  would  have  neither 
leisure  nor  need  to  torment  himself  about  the  motives  of 
his  actions,  but  simply  whatever  his  hand  found  to  do, 
would  do  it  with  all  his  might.  • . 


TO  THE  SAME 

June  15.  — u . . . Now,  as  to  Time.  I think,  if  you 
would  try  time  Socratically,  by  the  same  method  as  I 
have  tried  space,  you  would  find  that  the  attribution  of  it 
to  God  would  involve  analogical  ahsurdities.  I say  this 
out  of  mere  laziness  ; conscience  tells  me  that  I ought  to 
set  it  down  and  do  it  for  you,  having  started  the  ques- 
tion : but  will  you  have  patience  with  a man  who  has  a 
child  nine  days  old? 

“ It  shall  be  done  as  soon  as  I can.  Nevertheless, 
pray  be  vexed  no  more  at  taking  up  any  time  of  mine. 
Letters  like  these  are  a recreation  after  book-writing  and 
parish-visiting  when  I am  at  work  ; and  just  now,  when 
the  former  is  stopped  by  family  circumstances,  they  are  a 
sacred  duty.  I have  finished  fifteen  pages  of  Harriet 
Martineau’s  book  . . . after  an  afternoon’s  pike-fishing, 
to  which  I took  out  of  mere  inability  to  sit  quiet  at  home 
without  a wife  downstairs.  I liked  to  hear  that  you 
were  teaching  a carpenter  boat-building.  Men  ought  to 
know  how  to  do  such  things ; and  gentlemen  and  noble- 
men ought  to  find  an  honor  in  teaching  them.  ...  I 
confess  myself  a Platonist ; and  my  aim  is  to  draw  men, 
by  showing  them  that  the  absolute  ‘ God  the  Father/ 
whom  no  man  hath  seen,  is  beyond  all  possible  intellec- 
tual notions  of  ours  — to  feel  the  necessity  of  believing  in 
a 4 God  the  Son  * in  whom  that  indefinable  absolute  will 
and  morality  is  manifested  in  space  and  time,  under  a 
form  — not  human  till  He  took  flesh,  but  still,  as  the 


284  Charles  Kingsley 

Bible  tells  us  from  beginning  to  end,  the  archetype  of 
humanity.  Moreover,  I want  to  make  men  feel  that  the 
merely  intellectual  cognition  of  either  of  the  three  persons 
of  the  Trinity  is  ipso  facto  void ; because  all  intellectual 
cognition  on  such  points  must  start  from  the  assumption 
of  self  and  of  the  universe  as  the  fixed  datum  — that  the 
former  must  lead  to  Pantheism,  under  which  I class  the 
Neo-Platonism  of  Alexandria,  and  the  Neo-Platonico- 
Eclectism  of  Emerson,  Fichte,  and  the  whole  of  the 
German,  American,  English,  spiritualists  (not  excluding 
Goethe  himself,  in  his  ultimate  teaching),  and  that  the 
latter  must  lead,  as  with  Atkinson,  and  Harriet  Martineau, 
to  materialist  atheism.  When  I say  must  lead,  I mean 
logically.  Every  one,  thank  God,  is  better  than  his  creed 
— I mean  his  real  heart’s  belief.  Humanity  and  common 
sense  are  too  mighty  even  for  H.  Martineau  and  Atkin- 
son ; but  they  will  not  be  so  for  their  disciples.  Their 
disciples  will  formulize,  systematize,  carry  out  — perse- 
cute ; and  then  find  themselves  ending,  in  a generation 
or  two,  to  the  astonishment  of  their  Atkinsonian  and 
Emersonian  papas  and  mammas,  in  all  manner  of  fetish- 
worship  ; out-popery-ing  popery  itself.  Honestly  believ- 
ing this  horoscope  from  all  induction  from  history  which 
I can  collect,  I want  as  long  as  life,  and  as  far  as  wisdom 
is  given  to  me,  to  put  the  anthropology  of  men  of  my  own 
generation  on  as  sound  a footing  as  I can,  that  their  chil- 
dren and  grandchildren  may  have  some  fixed  ideas  concern- 
ing God,  and  man,  and  the  universe,  to  fall  back  on,  and 
fight  from,  when  the  evil  day  comes  — as  come,  unless  the 
tide  turns,  it  surely  will.  And  when  a man  of  your  posi- 
tion writes  to  me  about  such  matters,  I feel  no  labor  too 
great  which  may  help  him  even  in  the  least  to  see  and  to 
teach  the  good  old  way  by  which  St.  Paul  and  Augustine 
struggled  out  of  mists  and  quagmires,  to  which  any  in 
these  days  are,  after  all,  shallow  and  transparent.  . . . 
Read  those  confessions  of  St.  Augustine,  aud  see  if  they 
do  not  help  you.  . . . Pray  read  Maurice’s  ‘ History  of 


On  Metaphysical  Questions  285 

Moral  and  Metaphysical  Philosophy ; ’ a little  golden 
book.  It  is  a new  world  of  thought  and  revelation  in 
the  true  sense.  . . 


TO , ESQ.1 

“ Sad  as  your  letter  was,  it  gave  me  much  pleasure  : 
it  is  always  a pleasure  to  see  life  springing  out  of  death  — 
health  returning  after  disease,  though,  as  doctors  know, 
the  recovery  from  asphyxia  or  drowning  is  always  as 
painful  as  the  temporary  death  itself  was  painless.  . . . 
Faith  is  born  of  doubt.  ‘ It  is  not  life  but  death  where 
nothing  stirs/  I take  all  these  struggles  of  yours  as  simply 
so  many  signs  that  your  Father  in  heaven  is  treating  you 
as  a father,  that  He  has  not  forsaken  you,  is  not  offended 
with  you,  but  is  teaching  you  in  the  way  best  suited 
to  your  own  idiosyncrasy,  the  great  lesson  of  lessons. 
‘ Empty  thyself^  and  God  will  fill  thee/  I am  not  a man 
of  a mystical  or  romantic  turn  of  mind ; but  I do  say 
and  know,  both  from  reason  and  experience,  that  we 
must  be  taught,  even  though  it  be  by  being  allowed  for  a 
while  to  make  beasts  of  ourselves,  that  we  are  of  our- 
selves, and  in  ourselves,  nothing  better  than  — as  you  see 
in  the  savage  — a sort  of  magnified  beast  of  prey,  all  the 
more  terrible  for  its  wondrous  faculties ; that  neither  in- 
tellect nor  strength  of  will  can  save  us  from  degradation ; 
that  they  may  be  just  as  powerful  for  evil  as  for  good ; 
and  that  what  we  want  to  make  us  true  men,  over  and 
above  that  which  we  bring  into  the  world  with  us,  is 
some  sort  of  God-given  instinct,  motive,  and  new  prin- 
ciple of  life  in  us,  which  shall  make  us  not  only  see  the 
right,  and  the  true,  and  the  noble,  but  love  it,  and  give 
up  our  wills  and  hearts  to  it,  and  find  in  the  confession 
of  our  own  weakness  a strength,  in  the  subjection  of  our 

1 A young  man  of  nineteen,  brought  up  as  a Unitarian,  to 
whom  he  was  personally  a stranger,  but  who  wrote  to  him  laying 
bare  his  whole  heart,  having  woke  up  from  a course  of  sin  and 
unbelief  in  black  despair. 


286  Charles  Kingsley 

own  will  a freedom,  in  the  utter  carelessness  about  self  a 
self-respect,  such  as  we  have  never  known  before.  Do 
not  — do  not  fancy  that  any  confession  of  yours  to  me 
can  lower  you  in  my  eyes.  My  dear  young  man,  I went 
through  the  same  devil’s  sewer,  with  a thousand  times  the 
teaching  and  advantages  which  you  have  had.  Who  am 
I,  of  all  men,  to  throw  stones  at  you  ? But  take  your 
sorrows,  not  to  me,  but  to  your  Father  in  heaven.  If 
that  name,  Father,  mean  anything,  it  must  mean  that  He 
will  not  turn  away  from  His  wandering  child,  in  a way  in 
which  you  would  be  ashamed  to  turn  away  from  yours. 
If  there  be  pity,  lasting  affection,  patience  in  man,  they 
must  have  come  from  Him.  They,  above  all  things, 
must  be  His  likeness.  Believe  that  He  possesses  them 
a million  times  more  fully  than  any  human  being.  St. 
Paul  knew  well,  at  least,  the  state  of  mind  in  which  you 
are.  He  said  that  he  had  found  a panacea  for  it ; and 
his  words,  to  judge  from  the  way  in  which  they  have 
taken  root,  and  spread,  and  conquered,  must  have  some 
depth  and  life  in  them.  Why  not  try  them?  Just  read 
the  first  nine  chapters  of  St.  Paul’s  Epistle  to  the  Romans, 
and  write  me  your  heart  about  them.  But  never  mind 
what  anybody,  Unitarian  or  Trinitarian,  may  say  they 
mean.  Read  them  as  you  would  a Greek  play  — taking 
for  granted  that  they  mean  the  simplest  and  most  obvious 
sense  which  can  be  put  upon  them.  Let  me  hear  more 
— I long  for  another  letter.  I need  not  say  that  I con- 
sider your  confidence  an  honor,  and  shall  keep  it 
sacred.” 

“The  Christian  Socialist  ” came  to  an  end  this 
year,  and  “Parson  Lot”  spoke  his  “last  words”: 

“ . . . Let  us  say  little  and  work  the  more.  We 
shall  be  the  more  respected,  and  the  more  feared  too 
for  it.  People  will  begin  to  believe  that  we  really  know 
what  we  want,  and  really  do  intend  to  get  it,  and  really 
believe  in  its  righteousness.  And  the  spectacle  of  silent 


Parson  Lot’s  Last  Words  287 

working  faith  is  one  at  once  so  rare  and  so  noble,  that 
it  tells  more,  even  on  opponents,  than  ten  thousand 
platform  pyrotechnics.  In  the  mean  time  it  will  be  no 
bad  thing  for  us  if  we  are  beaten  sometimes.  Success 
at  first  is  dangerous,  and  defeat  an  excellent  medicine 
for  testing  people’s  honesty  — for  setting  them  earnestly 
to  work  to  see  what  they  want,  and  what  are  the  best 
methods  of  attaining  it.  Our  sound  thrashings  as  a 
nation  in  the  first  French  war  were  the  making  of  our 
armies ; and  it  is  good  for  an  idea,  as  well  as  for  a man, 
to  < bear  the  yoke  in  his  youth.’  The  return  match  will 
come  off,  and  many,  who  are  now  our  foes,  will  then  be 
our  friends  ; and  in  the  mean  time, 

‘ The  proper  impulse  has  been  given, 

Wait  a little  longer.’ 

“ Parson  Lot.” 

“If  you  want  an  Epicedium,,,  he  writes  to  the 
editor,  “ I send  one.  It  is  written  in  a hurry. 

“ So  die,  thou  child  of  stormy  dawn, 

Thou  winter  flower,  forlorn  of  nurse ; 

Chilled  early  by  the  bigot’s  curse, 

The  pedant’s  frown,  the  worldling’s  yawn. 

Fair  death,  to  fall  in  teeming  June, 

When  every  seed  which  drops  to  earth 
Takes  root,  and  wins  a second  birth 
From  steaming  shower  and  gleaming  moon; 

Fall  warm,  fall  fast,  thou  mellow  rain; 

Thou  rain  of  God,  make  fat  the  land  : 

That  roots,  which  parch  in  burning  sand, 

May  bud  to  flower  and  fruit  again, 

To  grace,  perchance,  a fairer  morn 
In  mighty  lands  beyond  the  sea, 

While  honor  falls  to  such  as  we 
From  hearts  of  heroes  yet  unborn, 


288  Charles  Kingsley 

Who  in  the  light  of  fuller  day, 

Of  loving  science,  holier  laws, 

Bless  us,  faint  heralds  of  their  cause, 
Dim  beacons  of  their  glorious  way. 


Failure?  while  tide-floods  rise,  and  boil 
Round  cape  and  isle,  in  port  and  cove, 
Resistless,  star-led  from  above : 

What  though  our  tiny  wave  recoil  ? 

“ Charles  Kingsley. 


“June  9,  1852.” 


In  the  summer  of  1852,  Judge  Erskine,  with 
his  family,  settled  in  Eversley  to  be  a blessing 
to  the  parish  for  fifteen  years.  He  was  friend 
and  counsellor  to  the  rector  in  all  matters,  be- 
sides relieving  him  of  a heavy  load  of  expense  and 
anxiety  in  the  matter  of  the  local  charities.  With 
this  fresh  help  he  worked  on  cheerfully,  and  had 
the  heart  to  turn  his  thoughts  to  poetry  once 
more. 

His  youngest  daughter  was  born  in  June,  and 
the  day  following  he  resumes  his  letters  to  Mr. 
Ludlow,  from  which  the  following  extracts  are 
made : 

“ Too  tired,  confused,  and  happy  to  work,  I sit  down 
for  a chat  with  you.  1.  About  the  last  number  of 
‘ Hypatia.’  I dare  say  you  are  right.  I wanted,  for 
artistic  purposes,  to  keep  those  two  chapters  cool  and 
calm  till  just  the  very  end  of  each ; and  it  is  very 
difficult  to  be  quiet  without  also  being  dull.  But  this, 
you  know,  is  only,  after  all,  rough  copy  ; and  such  running 
criticisms  are  of  the  very  greatest  help  to  me.  About  the 
‘ Saga 9 : I sent  it  to  Max  Muller,  who  did  not  like  it  at 
all,  he  said  ; because,  though  he  highly  approved  of  the 
form  (and  gave  me  a good  deal  of  learned  advice  in  re ), 
it  was  too  rational  and  moral  and  rounded,  he  said,  and 


Letters  to  Mr.  Ludlow  289 

not  irrational  and  vast,  and  dreamy,  and  hyperbolic  — 
like  a true  saga. 

“ As  for  the  monks : ’pon  honor  they  are  slow 

fellows  — but  then  they  were  so  horribly  slow  in  reality. 
And  I can’t  see  but  that  Pambo’s  palaver  in  my  tale  is 
just  what  I find  in  Rosweyde’s  ‘ Vitae  Patrum,’  and 
Athanases’  4 Life  of  Anthony.’  Almost  every  expression 
of  Pambo’s  is  a crib  from  some  one,  word  for  word. 
And  his  instances  are  historic  ones.  Moreover,  you 
must  recollect  that  Arsenius  was  no*  mere  monk,  but 
a finished  gentleman  and  court  intriguer — taken  ill  with 
superstition.  ...  As  for  the  Sermons,1  I am  very  glad 
you  like  any  of  them.  About  what  you  don’t  like,  I will 
tell  you  honestly,  I think  that  I have  not  said  anything 
too  strong.  People  must  be  cured  of  their  horrible 
notions  of  God’s  arbitrary  power  — His  ‘ satisfaction  ’ 
in  taking  vengeance  — His  inflicting  a permanent  arbi- 
trary curse  as  a penalty  — His  being  the  author  of 
suffering  or  evil  in  any  way.  I have  been  driven  to  it 
by  this.  It  is  easy  enough  in  the  case  of  a holy  person 
to  use  the  stock  phrase  of  its  having  ‘ pleased  God  to 
afflict  them,’  because  one  sees  that  the  affliction  is  of 
use  ; but  you  can’t  and  dare  n’t  say  that  God  is  pleased, 
i.  e .,  satisfied,  or  rejoiced  to  afflict  poor  wretched  heathens 
in  St.  Giles’s,  to  whom,  as  far  as  we  can  see,  the  afflic- 
tion is  of  no  use,  but  the  very  reverse.  . . . 

“ If,  however,  I found  it  in  Scripture,  I should  believe 
it : what  I want  is  — plain  inductive  proof  from  texts. 
The  ‘ it  has  pleased  the  Lord  to  bruise  Him,’  is  just  the 
very  opposite.  The  pith  and  marrow  of  the  53rd  of 
Isaiah  being,  that  He  of  whom  it  speaks  is  afflicted,  not 
for  the  good  of  His  own  soul,  but  for  others  — that  Pie 
is  ennobled  by  being  sacrificed.  It  seems  to  me,  that 
the  only  way  to  escape  the  dilemma  really,  is,  to  believe 
that  God  is  what  He  has  revealed  Himself  to  be  — ‘ A 

1 National  Sermons,  First  Series. 

VOL.  I.— 19 


290  Charles  Kingsley 

Father.'  If  a child  said,  ‘ I was  naughty,  and  it  pleased 
my  father  to  whip  me  for  it,'  should  we  not  feel  that  the 
words  were  hollow  and  absurd?  And  if  F.  died  to- 
morrow, God  forbid  that  I should  say  of  my  Father  in 
heaven,  it  pleased  Him  to  take  her  from  me.  If  the 
Lord  Jesus  is  the  express  image  of  His  Father’s  glory, 
then  His  Father  cannot  be  like  that.  For  could  I dare 
believe  that  it  would  not  pain  the  Blessed  Lord  infinitely 
more  than  it  would  pain  me,  if  He  was  compelled  by 
my  sins,  or  by  any  other  necessity  of  His  government 
of  this  rebellious  world,  to  inflict  on  me,  not  to  mention 
on  the  poor  little  children,  that  bitter  agony?  In  the 
face  of  such  real  thoughts,  school  terms  vanish,  and  one 
has  to  rest  on  realities ; on  the  belief  in  a human-hearted, 
loving,  sorrowing  Lord,  and  of  a Father  whose  image 

He,  in  some  inexplicable  way,  is or  one  would  go 

mad.  And  I have  always  found,  in  talking  to  my  people 
in  private,  that  all  second-hand  talk  out  of  books  about 
the  benefits  of  affliction,  was  rain  against  a window-pane, 
blinding  the  view  — but  never  entering.  But  I can 
make  a poor  wretch  believe  — ‘the  Lord  Jesus  is  just 
as  sorry  as  you  that  you  have  compelled  Him  for  a while 
to  deliver  you  over  to  Satan  for  the  punishment  of  the 
flesh,  that  your  soul  may  be  saved  thereby.’  Till  you 
can  make  them  believe  that  God  is  not  pleased,  but 
displeased  to  afflict  them,  I never  found  them  any  the 
better  for  their  affliction.  They  take  either  a mere 
hypocritically  fatalist  view  of  their  sorrow,  or  else 
they  are  terrified  and  despairing,  and  fancy  them- 
selves under  a curse,  and  God  angry  with  them,  and 
are  ready  to  cry,  ‘ Let  us  curse  God  and  die  ! If  God 
be  against  me,  what  matter  who  is  for  me  ? ’ And  so 
with  ****... 

“ I have  been  trying  to  tell  him,  as  I do  every  one  — ‘If 
God  be  for  you,  what  matter  who  is  against  you  ? ’ . . . 
If  I can  make  him  feel  that  first,  then,  and  then  only,  I 


Letters  to  Mr.  Ludlow  291 

can  go  on  to  say,  ‘ But  He  will  not  lift  you  out  of  it  till 
it  has  taught  you  the  lesson  which  He  intends  you  to 
learn ; ’ because  then  (instead  of  canting  generalities, 
which,  God  forgive  me,  I too  often  use,  and  feel  ready 
to  vomit  my  own  dirty  soul  out  the  next  minute)  I can 
tell  him  what  lesson  God  intends  him  to  learn  by 
affliction,  namely,  the  very  lesson  which  I have  been 
trying  to  teach  him,  — the  very  lesson  which  I preached 
in  the  three  sermons  on  the  cholera  — that  God  is  the 
foe  of  all  misery  and  affliction ; that  He  yearns  to  raise 
us  out  of  it,  and  to  show  us  that  in  His  presence  is 
the  fulness  of  life  and  joy,  and  that  nothing  but  our 
own  wilfulness  and  imperfection  keep  us  in  it  for  an 
instant.  I dare  not  say  this  of  A.  or  B.  I leave  them 
to  impute  sin  to  themselves : but  I will  impute  to 
myself,  and  not  to  God’s  will,  the  cause  of  every  finger- 
ache  I have,  because  I know  that  I never  had  a sorrow 
which  I did  not  cause  myself,  or  make  necessary  for 
myself  by  some  sin  of  my  own ; and  I will  stand  by  the 
service  of  the  ‘ Visitation  of  the  Sick,’  which  represents 
the  man’s  sins  as  the  reason  of  the  sickness,  and  his 
recovery  as  God’s  will  and  desire.  ‘ He  doth  not  afflict 
willingly  or  grieve  the  children  of  men,’  is  a plain 
Scripture,  and  I will  not  explain  it  away  to  suit  any 
theory  whatsoever  about  the  origin  of  evil ; but  believe 
that  the  first  chapter  of  Job,  and  the  two  accounts  of 
David’s  numbering  the  people,  tell  us  all  we  can  know 
about  it.  Thus,  so  far  from  allowing  that  what  I say  of 
God’s  absolute  love  of  our  happiness  and  hatred  of  our 
misery  is  the  half-truth,  which  must  be  limited  by  any- 
thing else,  I say  it  is  the  whole  truth,  the  root  truth, 
which  must  limit  all  theories  about  the  benefit  of  suf- 
fering, or  any  other  theories,  and  must  be  preached 
absolutely,  nakedly,  unreservedly  first,  as  the  Lord  Jesus 
preached  it,  to  be  of  any  real  benefit  to  men.  I know 
all  this  is  incoherent ; but  I don’t  pretend  to  have  solved 


292  Charles  Kingsley 

this  or  any  other  problem.  If  you  prove  to  me  seven 
large  self-contradictions 1 * * * * in  my  own  harangue,  it  won’t 
matter.  All  you  will  do,  will  be  to  drive  me  to  a 
Socratic  dialogue,  which  is  the  only  way  I can  argue.” 

• . . “ Thank  God  that  there  is  one  more  man  in  the 
world  who  has  found  out  the  great  metaphysicotheologic 
law,  that  if  a man  sees  me,  he  sees  me,  whether  he 
happens  to  know  my  name  or  not ! ! ! How  has  the 
6 religious  world 9 fallen  into  the  notion  that  no  one 
believes  in  Christ,  who  does  not  call  Him  by  the  same 
appellation  as  themselves?  1.  From  the  dogma-olatry 
of  the  last  two  centuries  (Popish  and  Protestant),  Christ 
has  not  seemed  to  them  a Living  Man,  or  God  either, 
but  a black  formula  on  white  paper.  2.  Because,  as 
old  Fox  and  Naylor  told  them  all,  they  had  been  be- 
lieving in  a dead  Christ,  not  in  the  live  one  of  the 
‘Revelations  9 — a historic  Christ,  absent  since  a.  d.  33. 
And  it  seems  to  me  as  if  The  Blessed  One  was  just 
saying  no  to  that,  — saying  (I  speak  with  reverence, 
but  surely  He  wishes  us  to  search  out  His  dealings  with 
man)  — ‘ The  knowledge  of  Me  as  a present  King  and 
friend  is  far  more  important  to  you  than  knowledge  of 
the  facts  of  my  life  eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  because 
that  last  is  only  the  cause,  the  root ; the  former  is  the 
effect,  the  fruit.  I was  born,  crucified,  rose,  that  I 
might  be  what  I am.’  Then,  Christ  seems  (I  speak 
humbly)  to  be  nowadays  trying  the  Church,  as  He 
did  the  disciples  on  the  road  to  Emmaus,  appearing  in 
disguise  and  anonymous.  Cannot  He  do  what  he 
likes?  Is  He  bound  by  the  Thirty-nine  Articles,  or 

1 “ I remember,”  said  a friend,  who  complained  of  there  being 

a certain  inconsistency  about  his  theology,  and  asked  him  how 

this  was  to  go  with  that , “ C.  K/s  answering  — ‘You  logical 

Scotchmen  must  construct  consistent  theories  : I have  intuitions 

of  individual  truths : how  they  are  to  be  reconciled  I know  not/  ” 


Letters  to  Mr.  Ludlow  293 

Robinson’s  ‘ Christian  System  ’ ? Then  those  who  do 
not  know  Him,  but  only  facts  about  Him,  will  prove 
their  ignorance  by  denying  His  presence ; those  who 
have  Him  in  their  hearts,  who  personally  know  and  love 
Him,  will  know  Him  without  a label ; whether  in 
* * * * * *>s  heart,  or  in  any  other  verbal  heresiarch’s. 
So  far  I seem  to  see.  But  there  is  more  belonging  to 
this — in  my  eyes  the  great  theological  revelation  of  the 
day,  first  stated  to  me  by  Maurice  in  Peterborough 
Cathedral,  which  I want  to  talk  over  with  you.” 


“ In  fhree  weeks’  time,  we  shall  be  delighted  to  see 
thee.  My  beloved  roses  will  be  just  in  glory,  the  fish 
will  be  just  in  season ; thanks  to  the  late  spring.  My 
old  hunter  [a  horse  which  a friend  had  lately  lent  him] 
will  be  up  from  grass,  and  proud  to  carry  you  and  me 
— per  gig  — to  see  the  best  of  men,  John  Paine,  saint 
and  hop-grower,  of  Farnham,  Surrey.  Also  we  will  talk 
of  all  matters  in  heaven  and  earth.  That  is,  unless  I 
am  so  deeply  unthankful,  as  indeed  I am,  for  all  my 
blessings  that  the  Giver  finds  it  necessary,  against  His 
will,  to  send  some  bitter  among  my  paradise  of  sweets. 
. . . What  you  say  about  my  ‘ ergon  ’ being  poetry  is 
quite  true.  I could  not  write  ‘ Uncle  Tom’s  Cabin,’ 
and  I can  write  poetry  . . . there  is  no  denying  it : I 
do  feel  a different  being  when  I get  into  metre  — I 
feel  like  an  otter  in  the  water,  instead  of  an  otter  ashore. 
He  can  run  fast  enough  ashore,  and  keep  the  hounds 
at  a tearing  gallop,  as  my  legs  found  this  spring  in 
Snowdonia,  but  when  he  takes  water,  then  indeed  he 
becomes  beautiful,  full  of  divine  grace  and  freedom, 
and  exuberance  of  power.  Go  and  look  at  him  in  the 
Zoological  Gardens,  and  you  ’ll  see  what  I mean. 
When  I have  done  ‘ Hypatia  ’ I will  write  no  more 
novels.  I will  write  poetry  — not  as  a profession  — but 
I will  keep  myself  for  it,  and  I do  think  I shall  do 


V 


1 


294  Charles  Kingsley 

something  that  will  live.  I feel  my  strong  faculty  is  that 
sense  of  form , which,  till  I took  to  poetry,  always  came 
out  in  drawing,  but  poetry  is  the  true  sphere,  combining 
painting  and  music  and  history  all  in  one.” 

“ . . . I wonder  what  makes  me  so  chatty  this  morn- 
ing — mere  idleness,  I do  believe ; never  mind.  I 
can’t  settle  again  for  a few  days,  and  I can’t  work  hard, 
because  I can’t  play  hard,  on  account  of  this  mighty 
rain ; and  unless  I get  frantic  exercise  of  body,  my  mind 
won’t  work.  I should  like  to  have  a 6 Nicor’  to  slay 
every  afternoon;  wouldn’t  I write  eight  hours  a day 
then  ! As  it  is,  my  only  nicor  to-day  has  been  a rabbit 
about  as  long  as  this  sheet  of  paper,  which  I,  my  man, 
and  my  dog  valiantly  captured  half-an-hour  ago  in  the 
middle  of  the  flower-beds  ! ‘ But  slew  him  not ; awe 

kept  our  souls  from  that,’  as  Andromache  remarks  in  a 
certain  novel. 

‘ Therefore  we  took  him  by  the  silver  ears, 

And  made  for  him  a hutch  with  iron  hoops, 

And  put  him  in  the  tool-house ; and  around 
The  children  of  the  baby-nursing  dame, 

The  imps  who  haunt  the  garden,  danced  and  yelled.’ 

“ What  do  you  think  of  that  for  a parody  ? F.  re- 
mains very,  very  well,  and  so  does  the  infant.” 

“ I send  you  more  Andromeda.  . . . You  will  see  at 
once  the  difference  in  style  between  this  opening  and 
the  latter  part  — right  or  wrong,  it  was  instinctive.  I 
felt  myself  on  old  mythic,  idolatrous  ground,  and  went 
slowly  and  artificially,  feeling  it  unreal,  and  wishing  to 
make  readers  feel  it  such.  Then  when  I get  into  real 
human  Greek  life,  I can  burst  out  and  rollick  along  in 
the  joy  of  existence.  . . . 

“ You  know  that  Andromeda  myth  is  a very  deep  one. 
It  happened  at  Joppa,  and  she  must  have  been  a 


Letters  to  Mr.  Ludlow  295 

Canaanite ; and  I cannot  help  fancying  that  it  is  some 
remnant  of  old  human  sacrifices  to  the  dark  powers  of 
nature,  which  died  out  throughout  Greece  before  the 
higher,  sunnier  faith  in  human  gods ; and  that  I shall 
thus  bring  out,  or  bring  in,  enough  to  make  it  felt  with- 
out hurting  the  classicality,  by  contrasting  her  tone  about 
the  gods  with  that  of  Perseus,  whom  she  is  ready  to 
worship  as  a being  of  a higher  race,  with  his  golden  hair 
and  blue  eyes.  Oh,  my  dear  man,  the  beauty  of  that 
whole  myth  is  unfathomable  ; I love  it,  and  revel  in  it  more 
and  more  the  longer  I look  at  it.  If  I have  made  one 
drawing  of  Perseus  and  Andromeda  I have  made  fifty, 
and  burnt  them  all  in  disgust.  If  I conceive  a thought 
(objective,  that  is,  of  course),  I almost  always  begin  by 
drawing  it  again  and  again,  and  then  the  incompleteness 
of  the  pencil  (for  paint  I can't)  drives  me  to  words 
to  give  it  color  and  chiaroscuro.1  . . . 

“When  you  come  to  me  I have  a poem  (Santa 
Maura)  to  show  you.  I can  hardly  bear  to  read  it 
myself ; but  it  is  the  deepest  and  clearest  thing  I have 
yet  done.  I send  a scrap  more  rough  copy.  Perseus 
rushing  on  the  Ore  — 

‘ As  when  an  osprey,  aloft,  dark  eyebrowed,  royally  crested  . . . 

Stunning  with  terrible  heel  the  life  of  the  brain  in  the  hind 
head.’ 

Mind  the  ‘ terrible  heel"  That  is  right,  a hawk  strikes 
with  his  heel,  and  after  grips  with  his  whole  foot.  A 
fish  or  duck  killed  by  a hawk  is  always  scored  up  the 
neck  and  hind  head ; sometimes  ripped  up  right  along 
the  back.  If  you  ’ll  consider ; striking  his  prey  at  im- 

1 The  first  edition  of  “ The  Heroes 99  — a Christian  book  of  Greek 
fairy  tales  for  his  children,  published  in  1855,  was  illustrated  by 
himself,  and  contains  an  exquisite  sketch  of  Perseus  and  Androm: 
eda.  (M.  K.) 


296  Charles  Kingsley 


>/ 


mense  speed  from  behind,  he  could  n’t  drive  his  front 
claws  in.  The  dark  eyebrowed  is  Homer’s  ‘ melano- 
phrus,’  and  is  the  thing  which  struck  me  as  most  magnifi- 
cent in  a large  osprey  which  I came  upon  ten  yards 
from  me  in  the  Issthal.  For  the  same  reason,  doubt 
not,  c the  wind  rattling  in  his  pinions.’  A falcon  does 
not,  as  the  herd  think,  rush  silently  down  head  foremost, 
but  drives  himself  noisily  down  heels  foremost  by  a 
succession  of  preternatural  flaps,  the  philosophy  of  which 
I could  never  make  out.  A gull  does  the  same,  though 
he  strikes  with  his  beak  when  he  wants  to  force  himself 
under  water ; anything  atop  he  takes  as  an  owl  does, 
by  sliding  down  — or  not  quite  — for  an  owl’s  silent  fall 
is  more  mysterious  still.  He  catches  with  his  beak,  and 
then  takes  the  mouse  out  of  his  mouth  with  his  hand, 
like  a Christian.  But  there ’s  enough  natural  history 
for  the  nonce.  There  ’s  a hawk  ‘ stooping  ’ (sketch 
enclosed).  . . . 

“ I don’t  agree  with  you  about  not  polishing  too 
much.1  If  you  are  a verse  maker,  you  will,  of  course, 


1 Speaking  once  of  the  finish  and  perfection  of  Tennyson’s 
poetry,  he  says : “ And  how  are  such  effects  produced  but  by 
labor?  Labor  severe,  self-restraining,  patient;  labor  without 
which  the  diamond  itself  is  dark.  The  Venus  or  the  Apollo 
might  possess  the  most  exact  proportion  of  limb,  the  most  perfect 
grace  of  attitude,  yet  who  would  have  called  them  beautiful  while 
the  surface  of  the  marble  was  still  rough  and  knotty?  It  is  not 
the  size,  but  the  finish  of  the  picture  which  proves  the  painter’s 
art,  — proves  that  he  has  worked,  to  use  Mr.  Ruskin’s  phrase,  by 
the  light  of  ‘ The  Lamps  of  Sacrifice  and  of  Obedience.’  ...  If 
metre  and  melody  be  worth  anything  at  all,  let  them  be  polished 
to  perfection  : let  an  author  ‘ keep  his  piece  nine  years,’  or  ninety 
and  nine,  till  he  has  made  it  as  musical  as  he  can.  . . . The 
thought  must  be  struck  off  in  the  passion  of  the  moment ; the 
sword-blade  must  go  red-hot  to  the  anvil,  and  be  forged  in  a few 
seconds ; true : but  after  the  forging,  long  and  weary  polishing 
and  grinding  must  follow,  before  your  sword-blade  will  cut-  And 
melody  is  what  makes  poetry  cut,  what  gives  it  its  life,  its  power, 
its  magic  influence,  on  the  hearts  of  men.  It  must  ring  in  their 
ears  ; it  must  have  music  in  itself  ; it  must  appeal  to  the  senses, 


Hexameters 


297 

mb  off  the  edges  and  the  silvering ; but  if  you  are  a 
poet,  and  have  an  idea  and  one  key-note  running 
through  the  whole,  which  you  can’t  for  the  life  define  to 
yourself,  but  which  is  there  out  of  the  abysses,  defining 
you,  — then  every  polishing  is  a bringing  the  thing 
nearer  to  that  idea,  and  there  is  no  more  reason  in  not 
polishing  than  there  is  for  walking  about  with  a hole  or 
a spot  on  your  trousers,  a thing  which  drives  me  mad. 
If  I have  a spot  on  my  clothes,  I am  conscious  of 
nothing  else  the  whole  day  long,  and  just  as  conscious 
of  it  in  the  heart  of  Bramshill  Common,  as  if  I were 
going  down  Piccadilly.  . . . Dear  man,  did  you  ever 
ride  a lame  horse,  and  wish  that  the  earth  would  open, 
and  swallow  you,  though  there  was  n’t  a soul  within 
miles  ? Or  did  you  ever  sit  and  look  at  a handsome  or 
well-made  man,  and  thank  God  from  your  heart  for  hav- 
ing allowed  you  such  a privilege  and  lesson  ? Oh,  there 
was  a butcher’s  nephew  playing  cricket  in  Bramshill 
last  week,  whom  I would  have  walked  ten  miles  to 
see,  in  spite  of  the  hideous  English  dress.  One  looked 
forward  with  delight  to  what  he  would  be  ‘ in  the 
resurrection.  . . 

“ . . . I want  to  aim  at  the  clearest  and  sharpest 
objectivity,  and  even  in  the  speeches  of  Perseus  and 
Andromeda,  the  subjective  element  must  come  out  in 
sententiousness,  not  in  sentiment.  I shall  read  up  the 
(Edipus  Coloneus,  and  the  Antigone,  before  I do  them, 
to  catch  the  sententiosity.  But  I never  had  dreamed 
of  daring  to  write  hexameters.1  I should  write  them 
merely  by  ear,  as  I firmly  believe  Homer  wrote  his,  and 

as  well  as  to  the  feelings,  the  imagination,  the  intellect : then,  when 
it  seizes  at  once  on  the  whole  man,  on  body,  soul,  and  spirit,  will 
it  * swell  in  the  heart,  and  kindle  in  the  eyes,  and  constrain  him, 
he  knows  not  why,  to  believe  and  to  obey.’  ” 

1 In  “Westward  Ho!”  is  introduced  a supposed  conversa- 
tion between  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and  the  poet  Edmund  Spenser, 
on  the  subject  of  Hexameter  verse.  (M.  K.) 


298  Charles  Kingsley 

make  a word  scan  two  different  ways,  as  he  does,  when- 
ever I chose,  minding  always  to  make  accent  and  metre 
coincide.  As  for  hexameters  being  foreign  to  our  lan- 
guage, if  you  will  mind  the  caesura,  and  split  your  sense 
at  that  as  often  as  convenient,  you  can  talk  prose  in 
hexameters  just  as  easily  as  in  blank  verse.  Look  (it  is 
Coleridge’s  hint)  at  the  great  quantity  of  the  Bible  and 
Prayer-book  which  is  actually  unconscious  hexameter 
already.  ...  I enclose  my  last : — 

44  I and  my  gardener  George,  and  my  little  whelp  Maurice 
and  Dandy, 

Went  out  this  afternoon  fishing ; abetter  night  nobody  could 
wish, 

Wind  blowing  fresh  from  the  west,  and  a jolly  long  roll  on 
the  water, 

After  a burning  day  and  the  last  batch  of  May-flies  just 
rising  — 

Well,  I fished  two  or  three  shallows  and  never  a fish  would 
look  at  me. 

Then  I fished  two  or  three  pools,  and  with  no  more  success, 
I assure  you. 

4 I ’ll  tell  you  what,  G.,’  said  1, 4 some  rascal ’s  been  “ stud- 
dling  ” the  water  ; 

Look  at  the  tail  of  that  weed  there,  all  turned  up  and  tangled 
— Tim  Goddard ’s 

Been  up  the  stream  before  us,  or  else  Bonny  Over,  and  sold  us  !’ 
4 Well,  sir,’  says  he,  4 1 ’ll  be  sworn,  some  chap ’s  gone  up  here 
with  a shove-net ! 

Pack  up  our  traps  and  go  home,  is  the  word  ! ’ and  by  jingo 
we  did  it. 

As  I sit  here,  word  for  word,  that  was  mine  and  G.’s 
conversation.” 

44 ...  I wish  you  would  show  this  Prologue  to 
Maurice.  It  is  as  deep  a thing  — though  not  very 
smooth  — as  I have  said  yet,  and  I mean  what  I say. 

4 Linger  no  more,  my  beloved,  by  abbey  and  cell  and 
cathedral ; 

Mourn  not  for  holy  ones  mourning  of  old  — them  who  knew 
not  the  F ather. 


roetry  299 

Weeping  with  fast  and  scourge,  when  the  bridegroom  was 
taken  from  them. 

Drop  back  awhile  through  the  years,  to  the  warm  rich  youth 
of  the  nations, 

Childlike  in  virtue  and  faith,  though  childlike  in  passion  and 
pleasure, 

Childlike  still,  and  still  near  to  their  God,  while  the  day-spring 
of  Eden 

Lingered  in  rose-red  rays  on  the  peaks  of  Ionian  mountains. 
Down  to  the  mothers,  as  Faust  went,  I go,  to  the  roots  of 
our  manhood. 

Mothers  of  us  in  our  cradles  ; of  us  once  more  in  our  glory. 
Newborn,  body  and  soul,  in  the  great  pure  world  which  shall 
be 

In  the  renewing  of  all  things,  when  man  shall  return  to  his 
Eden 

Conquering  evil,  and  death,  and  shame,  and  the  slander  of 
conscience, 

Free  in  the  sunshine  of  Godhead,  and  fearlessly  smile  on  his 
Father. 

Down  to  the  mothers  I go  — yet  with  thee  still ! — be  with 
me,  thou  purest! 

Lead  me,  thy  hand  in  my  hand ; and  the  dayspring  of  God 
go  before  us.’ 

“ P.  S.  — What  I have  said  of  ballads  is  this  : that 
they  must  be  objective,  dealing  with  facts  and  not  feel- 
ings — or  with  feelings  as  manifested  in  actions.  The 
union  of  the  objective  ballad  or  epic  (for  they  only 
differ  in  size)  with  the  subjective  ode,  elegiac  and  satire, 
makes  the  drama.  The  present  age  writes  subjective 
ballads,  and  fails  of  course. 

“Your  best  specimens  are  ‘ Johnnie  of  Breadislee ; ’ 
* Sir  Patrick  Spens  : ’ Lady  Maistry,  perfectly  awful  — 

‘ She  carried  the  peats  in  her  apron  lap 
To  burn  herself  withal.’ 

One  or  two  Danish  ballads  : Tennyson’s  ‘ Sir  Galahad  ; 9 
‘Wee  Croodledoo ; ’ ‘ Auld  Robin  Gray;’  Lord  Wil- 


300  Charles  Kingsley 

loughby  in  Percy’s  ‘ Reliques  ; ’ * Hosier’s  Ghost ; ’ 
‘When  in  Porto-bello  lying/  a noble  speech;  ‘Would 
you  hear  a Spanish  Lady?  ’ Campbell’s  ‘ Hohenlinden  ; ’ 
Uhland’s  ‘ Drei  Burschen;’  Goethe’s  ‘ Beggarman  and 
Erl-King.’  But  the  Germans  have  hundreds.” 

To  T.  Hughes,  Esq.  — “.  . . I had  just  done  my 
work,  and  dinner  was  coming  on  the  table  yesterday  — 
just  four  o’clock  — when  the  bow-wows  appeared  on 
the  top  of  the  Mount,  trying  my  patch  of  gorse ; so  I 
jumped  up,  left  the  cook  shrieking,  and  off.  He  was  n’t 
there,  but  I knew  where  he  was,  for  I keep  a pretty 
good  register  of  foxes  (ain’t  they  my  parishioners,  and 
parts  of  my  flock  ?)  ; and,  as  the  poor  fellows  had  had  a 
blank  day,  they  were  very  thankful  to  find  themselves  in 
five  minutes  going  like  mad.  We  had  an  hour  and  a 
half  of  it  — scent  breast-high  as  the  dew  began  to  rise 
(bleak  north-easter  — always  good  weather),  and  if  we 
had  not  crossed  a second  fox,  should  have  killed  him  in 
the  open ; as  it  was,  we  lost  him  after  sunset,  after  the 
fiercest  grind  I have  had  this  nine  years,  and  I went 
back  to  my  dinner.  The  old  horse  behaved  beautifully ; 
he  is  not  fast,  but  in  the  enclosed  woodlands  he  can  live 
up  to  any  one,  and  earned  great  honor  by  leaping  in 
and  out  of  the  Loddon ; only  four  more  doing  it,  and 
one  receiving  a mucker.  I feel  three  years  younger  to- 
day. . . . The  whip  tells  me  there  were  three  in  the 
river  together,  rolling  over  horse  and  man  ! What  a 
sight  to  have  lost  even  by  being  a-head.  . . . Have  you 
seen  the  story  of  the  run,  when  Mr.  Woodburne’s  hounds 
found  at  Blackholme,  at  the  bottom  of  Windermere,  and 
ended  beyond  Helvellyn,  more  than  fifty  miles  of  moun- 
tain. After  Applethwaite  Crag  (where  the  field  lost 
them)  they  had  a ring  on  High  Street  (2700  feet)  of  an 
hour  unseen  by  mortal  eye ; and  after  that  were  seen  by 
shepherds  in  Batterdale,  Brother  Water,  top  of  Fairfield 


Frederika  Bremer  301 


(2ooo)  Dunnaird  Gap;  and  then  over  the  top  of  Hel- 
vellyn  (3050)  ; and  then  to  ground  on  Birkside  Screes 
-I  cannot  find  it  on  the  maps.  But  what  a poetic 
thing'  Helvellyn  was  deep  in  frost  and  snow.  (J  , 
that  I could  write  a ballad  thereanent.  The  thing  has 
taken  possession  of  me  ; but  I can’t  find  words,  lhere 
was  never  such  a run  since  we  were  born^;  and  thin  o 
hounds  doing  the  last  thirty  miles  alone  ! ” 


One  of  his  many  correspondents  at  this  time 
was  Frederika  Bremer,  the  Swedish  novelist, 
who,  in  the  previous  autumn,  had  paid  a visit  to 
Eversley  Rectory.  She  had  come  to  England  to 
see  the  Great  Exhibition,  but  she  expressed  one 
still  stronger  desire,  which  was  to  see  Charles 
Kingsley,  whose  writings  had  struck  a deep  chord 
in  her  heart.  It  would  be  needless  to  say  that  he 
thought  her  one  of  the  most  highly  cultivated 
women  he  had  ever  conversed  with,  and  her  sweet 
gentleness  and  womanliness  attracted  him  still 
more  than  her  intellect.  After  she  left  Eversley, 
she  sent  him  a copy  of  Esaia  Tegner’s  Fnthiof  s 
Saga,”  with  this  inscription:  “To  the  Viking  of 
the  New  Age,  Charles  Kingsley,  this  story  of  the 
Vikings  of  the  Old,  from  a daughter  of  the  Vik- 
ings, his  friend  and  admirer,  Frederika  Bremer; 
and  writes : 


Ot 


“ My  Young  Friend,  — Will  you  allow  me  to  call 
you  in  writing,  in  plain  words,  what  I have  called  and 
do  call  you  in  my  mind  and  heart?  You  must  think 
then  it  is  a baptismal  of  the  spirit,  and  you  must  un- 
derstand it.  I have  received  your  books.  They  shall 
go  with  me  over  the  sea  to  my  fatherland,  and  there  in 
my  silent  home,  I shall  read  them,  live  in  them,  enjoy 
them  deeply,  intensely.  I know  it,  know  it  all  the  better 


302  Charles  Kingsley 

since  I have  been  with  you.  I have  had  a dream  some- 
times of  a young  brother  like  that  one  that  was  snatched 
away  from  me  in  his  youth ; like  him,  but  more  ardent, 
a young  mind  that  I could  like,  love,  sympathize  with, 
quarrel  with,  live  with,  influence,  be  influenced  by,  fol- 
low, through  the  thorny  path,  through  tropical  islands, 
through  storm  and  sunshine,  higher  and  higher  ascend- 
ing in  the  metamorphosis  of  existence.  I had  that 
dream,  that  vision  again,  when  I saw  you,  that  made 
me  so  sad  at  parting.  But  let  that  pass.  With  much 
we  must  part.  Much  must  pass.  More  will  remain.  The 
communion  of  related  souls  will  remain  to  be  revived 
again  and  again.  I shall  hear  from  you,  and  I will  write 
to  you.  Meantime  my  soul  will  hover  about  you  with  the 
wings  of  blessing  thoughts.  I send  a copy  of  my  last 
book,  the  ‘ Midnight  Sun.’  As  you  are  fond  of  Natural 
History,  the  sketch  of  the  people  and  provinces  of  Swe- 
den in  the  introduction  may  interest  you ; this  much  be- 
longs to  the  natural  history  of  a country.  The  voyage 
up  to  the  mountains  of  the  midnight  sun,  the  scenery 
there  is  perfectly  true  to  nature ; I have  seen  and  lived 
it  through  myself.  Frithiof ’s  Saga  I take  peculiar  pleas- 
ure in  asking  you  to  accept,  as  a true  follower  of  Scan- 
dinavian mind  and  life,  and  as  the  story  of  a spirit  to 
whom  your  own  is  nearly  related.  The  universal,  the 
tropical  mind  seems  more  embodied  in  man  in  the  rigid 
zones  of  the  north,  than  in  those  of  tropical  nature.  It  is 
strange,  but  it  seems  to  me  to  be  so,  the  old  Viking’s 
greatness  was  that  he  wanted  to  conquer  the  whole 
world  and  make  it  his  own.  The  mission  of  the  spiritual 
Viking  seems  to  me  the  higher  one  to  conquer  the  world 
to  God.  So  is  yours.  God  speed  you  ! and  He  will ! 
God  bless  you  and  yours,  your  lovely  wife  first  among 
those,  and  lastly  — me  as  one  of  yours  in  sisterly  love.” 

A proposal  was  made  this  year  to  open  the 
Crystal  Palace  on  Sundays  — a step  towards  stem- 


Sunday  Amusements  303 

ming  the  tide  of  Sunday  drunkenness,  and  he 
wrote  to  Mr.  George  Grove,  who  had  asked  him 
to  help:  — 

October  28.  — “ I am  in  sad  perplexity  about  your 
letter.  I have  been  talking  it  over  with  Maurice.  He 
says  he  shall  take  the  matter  in  hand  in  his  Lincoln’s  Inn 
sermons,  and  that  it  is  a more  fit  thing  for  a London 
than  for  a country  parson,  being  altogether  against  my 
meddling.  ...  I use  freely  a pamphlet,  by  the  Rev. 
Baldwin  Brown,1  which  I think  the  wisest  speech,  save 
Maurice’s,  which  I have  seen  on  the  matter.  . . . 
The  Church  of  England  knows  nothing  of  that  definition 
of  the  Sabbath  as  a fast,  which  the  Puritans  borrowed 
from  the  Pharisees  and  Rabbins  of  the  most  fallen  and 
hideous  period  of  Judaism,  and  which  the  Lord  de- 
nounced again  and  again  as  contrary  to,  and  destructive 
of,  the  very  idea  and  meaning  of  the  Sabbath.  The 
Church  of  England  calls  Sunday  a feast-day,  and  not  a 
fast ; and  it  is  neither  contrary  to  her  ritual  letter,  nor 
to  her  spirit,  to  invite  on  that  day  every  Englishman  to 
refresh  himself  with  the  sight  of  the  wonders  of  God’s 
earth,  or  with  the  wonders  of  men’s  art,  which  she  con- 
siders as  the  results  of  God’s  teaching  and  inspiration. 

“ The  letter,  moreover,  as  well  as  the  spirit  of  the 
Bible,  is  directly  in  favor  of  the  arguments  brought 
forward  by  the  Crystal  Palace  Company’s  advocates. 
The  Sabbath,  it  declares,  was  made  for  man.  And 
man,  it  declares  to  be,  not  a mere  ‘ soul  to  be  saved  ’ 
(an  expression  nowhere  used  in  Scripture,  in  its  mod- 
em sense  of  a spirit,  to  be  got  safely  through  to  some 
future  state  of  bliss),  but  as  consisting  of  body,  soul,  and 
spirit  — meaning  by  soul  what  we  call  intellect  and  feel- 
ings. And  therefore  any  institution,  which,  like  the 
Crystal  Palace,  tends  to  give  healthy  and  innocent  rest 

1 Author  of  “ The  Higher  Life,”  “ The  Home  Life,”  and  “ The 
Doctrine  of  Annihilation  in  the  Light  of  the  Gospel  of  Love.” 


304  Charles  Kingsley 

and  refreshment  to  body,  mind,  and  tastes,  is  in  accord- 
ance, — a lower  sphere  certainly,  but  still  directly  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  letter  of  the  Sabbatical  institution,  as 
a day  of  rest  made  for  man  as  man.  . . .” 

In  1856  he  writes  on  this  topic  to  Mr. 
Maurice : 

“ I have  read  through  your  pamphlet  forthwith,  and 
with  very  great  delight.  I agree  with  every  word.  I 
feel  with  you  that  the  only  ground  on  which  Sunday 
amusements  can  be  really  defended , is  as  a carrying  out 
of  the  divineness  of  the  Sabbath , and  not  as  a relaxation 
of  it.  ...  I do  not  see  how  to  lay  down  the  ground 
of  the  Sabbath  better  than  you  have  done,  so  I do  not 
see  how  to  dogmatize  about  practical  applications  any  far- 
ther than  the  hints  you  have  given.  I have  often  fancied 
I should  like  to  see  the  great  useless  naves  and  aisles  of 
our  cathedrals  turned  into  museums  and  winter  gardens, 
where  people  might  take  their  Sunday  walks,  and  yet  at- 
tend service ; but  such  a plan  could  only  grow  up  of 
itself,  round  a different  service  than  ours,  or  at  least 
round  a service  interpreted  and  commented  on  by 
very  different  preaching ; and  till  the  Tartarus  and 
Elysium  superstition,  which  lies  as  really  at  the  bot- 
tom of  this  question  as  at  the  bottom  of  all,  is  settled, 
I see  no  hope  for  that.  . . . You  have  made  me 
see  more  than  I ever  did,  the  dignity  of  work  and  rest, 
and  their  analogy  with  God's  — so  justifying  all  that 
Parker,  Emerson,  or  Carlyle  have  said  about  it,  by  put- 
ting it  on  a ground  which  they  deny.  Yet  if  the  prob- 
lem of  human  existence  be  to  escape  the  impending 
torture  — cui  bono  ? Who  need  care  for  rest,  or  work 
either,  save  to  keep  the  body  alive  till  the  soul  is 
saved  ? Till  that  doctrine  vanishes,  no  one  will  feel  any 
real  analogy  between  his  life  and  God’s  life,  and  will  be 
as  selfish  and  covetous  in  his  work,  and  as  epicurean  in 
his  rest,  as  men  are  now.  It  was  their  ignorance  of  this 


Sunday  Amusements  305 

superstition,  I suppose,  which  enabled  the  old  Jews  to 
keep  their  Sabbath  (as  they  seem  to  have  done  from 
the  few  hints  we  have)  as  a day  of  4 rejoicing  before  the 
Lord/  in  attempts  more  or  less  successful  to  consecrate 
to  Him  the  simple  enjoyments  of  life  — in  feasting,  sing- 
ing, and  dancing.  4 In  the  midst  go  the  damsels  playing 
with  the  timbrels.7  But  this  would  be  absurd  here , and 
therefore  I suppose  it  is,  that  the  all-wise  Book  keeps 
the  practical  details  so  in  the  background,  leaving  each 
future  nation  to  actualize  the  Sabbath  according  to  its 
own  genius.  I think  what  you  have  said  on  that  quite 
admirable.  Nevertheless,  we  (after  we  are  dead  and 
alive  for  evermore)  shall  see  that  conception  carried 
out  on  earth. 

44 4 In  mighty  lands  beyond  the  sea, 

While  honor  falls  to  such  as  thee, 

From  hearts  of  heroes  yet  unborn.7 

“ Men  drink,  and  women  too,  remember/’  he  says 
elsewhere,  44  not  merely  to  supply  exhaustion ; not 
merely  to  drive  away  care ; but  often  simply  to  drive 
away  dulness.  . . . The  publican  knows  too  well  where 
thousands  of  the  lower  classes,  simply  for  want  of  any 
other  place  to  be  in,  save  their  own  sordid  dwellings, 
spend  as  much  as  they  are  permitted  of  the  Sabbath 
day.  . . . Let  us  put  down  4 Sunday  drinking,  by  all 
means.  And  let  us  see  — in  the  name  of  Him  who 
said  He  had  made  the  Sabbath  for  man,  and  not  man 
for  the  Sabbath  — if  we  cannot  do  something  to  pre- 
vent the  townsman’s  Sabbath  being,  not  a day  of  rest, 
but  a day  of  mere  idleness ; the  day  of  most  temptation, 
because  of  most  dulness  in  the  whole  seven.”  — 
(“  Health  and  Education,”  p.  64.) 

, “ Have  you  any  objection  ” (he  asks  the  Dean  of 

Westminster,  before  preaching  in  the  Abbey  for  the 
vol.  1.  — 20 


306  Charles  Kingsley 

Temperance  Society  in  1873)  “ to  my  speaking  in 
favor  of  opening  the  British  Museum  and  National 
Gallery  to  the  public  on  Sunday  afternoons?  . . . I 
have  held  very  strong  and  deliberate  opinions  on  this 
matter  for  many  years ; and  think  that  the  opening  of 
these  institutions  would  stop  not  only  a good  deal  of 
Sunday  and  therefore  of  Monday  drunkenness  — but 
would,  if  advocated  by  the  clergy,  enable  the  Church 
to  take  the  wind  out  of  the  sails  of  the  well-meaning  but 
ignorant  Sunday  league,  and  prove  herself  — what  she 
can  prove  herself  in  other  matters  if  she  has  courage, 
— the  most  liberal  religious  body  in  these  isles.  . . . ” 


TO  ADOLPH  SAPHIR,  ESQ. 

(Then  a student  in  Edinburgh) 

November  .1,  1852.  — “ If  I am  surprised  at  your 
writing  to  me,  it  is  the  surprise  of  delight  at  finding  that 
my  writings  have  been  of  use  to  any  man,  and  above  all 
to  a Jew.  For  your  nation  I have  a very  deep  love, 
first  because  so  many  intimate  friends  of  mine  — and 
in  one  case  a near  connection  — are  Jews,  and  next, 
because  I believe  as  firmly  as  any  modern  interpreter 
of  prophecy,  that  you  are  still  ‘ The  Nation / and  that 
you  have  a glorious,  as  I think  a culminating,  part  to 
play  in  the  history  of  the  race.  Moreover,  I owe  all  I 
have  ever  said  or  thought  about  Christianity  as  the  idea 
which  is  to  redeem  and  leaven  all  human  life,  * secular  1 
as  well  as  ‘ religious/  to  the  study  of  the  Old  Testament, 
without  which  the  New  is  to  me  unintelligible;  and  I 
cannot  love  the  Hebrew  books  without  loving  the  men 
who  wrote  them.  My  reason  and  heart  revolt  at  that 
magical  theory  of  inspiration  which  we  have  borrowed 
from  the  Latin  Rabbis  (the  very  men  whom  we  call 
fools  on  every  other  subject),  which  sinks  the  person- 
ality of  the  inspired  writer,  and  makes  him  a mere 


To  a Jew  307 

puppet  and  mouthpiece ; and  therefore  I love  your 
David,  and  Jeremiah,  and  Isaiah,  as  men  of  like  pas- 
sions with  myself  — men  who  struggled,  and  doubted, 
and  suffered,  that  I might  learn  from  them ; and  loving 
them,  how  can  I but  love  their  children,  and  yearn  over 
them  with  unspeakable  pity? 

“ You  seem  to  be  about  to  become  a Christian  minis- 
ter. In  that  capacity  your  double  education,  both  as  a 
German  and  as  a Hebrew,  ought  to  enable  you  to  do 
for  us  what  we  sadly  need  having  done,  almost  as  much 
as  those  Jews  among  whom  your  brother  so  heroically 
labored  — I mean  to  teach  us  the  real  meaning  of  the 
Old  Testament  and  its  absolute  unity  with  the  New. 
For  this  we  want  not  mere  ‘ Hebrew  scholars/  but 
Hebrew  spirits  — Hebrew  men ; and  this  must  be  done, 
and  done  soon,  if  we  are  to  retain  our  Old  Testament, 
and  therefore  our  New.  For  if  we  once  lose  our  faith 
in  the  Old  Testament,  our  faith  in  the  New  will  soon 
dwindle  to  the  impersonal  ‘ spiritualism 7 of  Frank 
Newman,  and  the  German  philosophasters.  Now  the 
founder  of  German  unbelief  in  the  Old  Testament  was 
a Jew.  Benedict  Spinoza  wrote  a little  book  which  con- 
vulsed the  spiritual  world,  and  will  go  on  convulsing  it 
for  centuries,  unless  a Jew  undoes  what  a Jew  has  done. 
Spinoza  beat  down  the  whole  method  of  rabbinical  in- 
terpretation— the  whole  theory  of  rabbinical  inspira- 
tion ; but  he  had  nothing,  as  I believe,  to  put  in  their 
place.  The  true  method  of  interpretation  — the  true 
theory  of  inspiration  is  yet  sadly  to  seek.  At  least  such 
a method  and  such  a theory  as  shall  coincide  with  his- 
tory and  with  science.  It  is  my  belief  that  the  Christian 
Jew  is  the  man  who  can  give  us  the  key  to  both  — who 
can  interpret  the  New  and  the  Old  Testaments  both, 
because  he  alone  can  place  himself  in  the  position  of 
the  men  who  wrote  them,  as  far  as  national  sympathies, 
sorrows,  and  hopes  are  concerned  — not  to  mention  the 


308  ' Charles  Kingsley 

amount  of  merely  antiquarian  light  which  he  can  throw 
on  dark  passages  for  us,  if  he  chooses  to  read  as  a Jew 
and  not  as  a Rabbinist. 

“ I would  therefore  intreat  you,  and  every  other  con- 
verted Jew,  not  to  sink  your  nationality,  because  you 
have  become  a member  of  the  Universal  Church,  but  to 
believe  with  the  old  converts  of  Jerusalem,  that  you  are 
a true  Jew  because  you  are  a Christian;  that  as  a Jew 
you  have  your  special  office  in  the  perfecting  of  the 
faith  and  practice  of  the  church,  which  no  Englishman 
or  other  Gentile  can  perform  for  you : neither  to  Ger- 
manize or  Scotticize,  but  try  to  see  all  heaven  and  earth 
with  the  eyes  of  Abraham,  David,  and  St.  Paul.,, 


Jj.aJas 


CHAPTER  XI 


1853 

Aged  34 

The  Rector  in  his  Church  — “ Hypatia  ” Letters  from 
Chevalier  Bunsen  — Mr.  Maurice’s  Theological  Es- 
says— Correspondence  with  Thomas  Cooper. 

“ My  heart  and  hope  is  with  thee  — Thou  wilt  be 
A latter  Luther,  and  a soldier  priest, 

To  scare  church-harpies  from  the  Master’s  feet; 

Our  dusted  velvets  have  much  need  of  thee  : 

Thou  art  no  Sabbath-drawler  of  old  saws, 

Distill’d  from  some  worm-canker’d  homily; 

But  spurr’d  at  heart  with  fieriest  energy, 

To  embattail  and  to  wall  about  thy  cause 
With  iron-worded  proof,  hating  to  hark 
The  humming  of  the  drowsy  pulpit-drone, 

Half  God’s  good  Sabbath,  while  the  worn-out  clerk 
Brow-beats  his  desk  below.  Thou  from  a throne, 

Mounted  in  heaven  wilt  shoot  into  the  dark 
Arrows  of  lightning.  I will  stand  and  mark.” 

Tennyson  (Early  Sonnets). 

THE  books  which  entailed  so  many  letters, 
now  also  attracted  strangers  to  Eversley 
Church  on  Sunday.  Officers  from  Sandhurst 
would  constantly  walk  over,  and  occasionally  a 
stray  clergyman  would  be  seen  in  the  free  sit- 
tings. “ Twenty-five  Village  Sermons  ” had  been 
published  in  1849,  and  had  been  reviewed  in  the 
“Times/’  and  “Sermons  on  National  Subjects,” 
perhaps  the  most  remarkable  of  all  his  volumes  of 
sermons,  had  just  been  brought  out.  His  preach- 


310  Charles  Kingsley 

ing  was  becoming  a great  power.  It  was  the 
speech  of  a live  man  to  living  beings. 

“Yes,  my  friends,”  he  would  say,  “these  are  real 
thoughts.  They  are  what  come  into  people’s  minds 
every  day ; and  I am  here  to  talk  to  you  about  what 
is  really  going  on  in  your  soul  and  mine  ; not  to  repeat 
to  you  doctrines  at  second  hand  out  of  a book,  and  say, 
4 There,  that  is  what  you  have  to  believe  and  do,  and 
if  you  do  not,  you  will  go  to  hell ; ’ but  to  speak  to  you 
as  men  of  like  passions  with  myself ; as  sinning,  sorrow- 
ing, doubting,  struggling  human  beings ; to  talk  to  you 
of  what  is  in  my  own  heart,  and  will  be  in  your  hearts 
too,  some  day,  if  it  has  not  been  already.  . . 

After  he  gave  out  his  text,  the  poor  men  in  the 
free  sittings  under  the  pulpit  would  turn  towards 
him,  and  settle  themselves  into  an  attitude  of 
fixed  attention.  In  preaching  he  would  try  to 
keep  still  and  calm,  and  free  from  all  gesticula- 
tion; but  as  he  went  on,  he  had  to  grip  and  clasp 
the  cushion  on  which  his  sermon  rested,  in  order 
to  restrain  the  intensity  of  his  own  emotion;  and 
when,  in  spite  of  himself,  his  hands  would  escape, 
they  would  be  lifted  up,  the  fingers  of  the  right 
hand  working  with  a peculiar  hovering  movement, 
of  which  he  was  quite  unconscious;  his  eyes 
seemed  on  fire,  his  whole  frame  worked  and 
vibrated.  It  was  riveting  to  see  as  well  as  hear 
him,  as  his  eagle  glance  penetrated  every  corner 
of  the  church,  and  whether  there  were  few  or 
many  there,  it  was  enough  for  him  that  those  who 
were  present  were  human  beings  standing  between 
two  worlds,  and  that  it  was  his  terrible  responsi- 
bility as  well  as  high  privilege,  to  deliver  a mes- 
sage to  each  and  all.  The  great  festivals  of  the 


The  Rector  in  his  Church  3 1 1 

Church  seemed  to  inspire  him,  and  his  words 
would  rise  into  melody.  At  Christmas,  Easter, 
Whitsuntide,  and  on  the  Holy  Trinity  especially, 
his  sermon  became  a song  of  triumph;  during 
Advent,  a note  of  solemn  warning.  On  Good 
Friday,  and  through  the  Passion  week  evening 
services,  it  would  be  a low  and  mournful  chant, 
uttered  in  a deep,  plaintive,  and  at  moments  al- 
most agonized  tone,  which  hushed  his  congrega- 
tion into  a silence  that  might  be  felt.  These 
Passion  services  were  given  at  an  hour  to  suit  the 
laboring  men  on  their  way  home  from  work,  when 
a few  would  drop  into  church,  to  whom  he 
preached  a fifteen  minutes’  sermon,  which  a Lon- 
don congregation  would  have  gone  miles  to  hear. 
His  hearers,  sometimes  only  fifteen  to  twenty 
besides  his  own  family,  will  never  forget  the 
dimly-lighted  church  in  the  spring  evening’s 
twilight,  with  its  little  sprinkling  of  worshippers, 
and  the  silence  as  of  death  and  the  grave,  when 
with  a look  which  he  never  seemed  to  have  at  any 
other  season,  he  followed  Christ  through  the 
events  of  the  Holy  Week,  from  the  First  Com- 
munion to  the  foot  of  the  Cross.  And  when  “the 
worst  was  over,”  with  what  a gasp  of  relief  was 
Easter  Even,  with  its  rest  and  quietness,  reached, 
and  with  significant  words  about  that  Intermediate 
state,  in  which  he  so  deeply  believed,  he  would 
lead  our  thoughts  from  the  peaceful  sepulchre  in 
the  garden  to  the  mysterious  gate  of  Paradise. 

His  Good  Friday  sermons  were  flashes  of  inspi- 
ration. He  thus  closes  one,  perhaps  the  finest 
he  ever  preached  [National  Sermons,  1st  Series], 
in  1848,  when  his  heart  was  full  of  the  People’s 
cause : 


3 1 2 Charles  Kingsley 

“ Oh  ! sad  hearts  and  suffering  ! Anxious  and  weary 
ones  ! Look  to  the  Cross  this  day  1 There  hung  your 
King.  The  King  of  sorrowing  souls,  and  more  the  King 
of  Sorrow.  Ay,  pain  and  grief,  tyranny  and  desertion, 
death  and  hell.  He  has  faced  them  one  and  all,  and 
tried  their  strength,  and  taught  them  His,  and  con- 
quered them  right  royally  ! And  since  He  hung  upon 
that  torturing  cross,  sorrow  is  divine,  godlike,  as  joy 
itself.  All  that  man’s  fallen  nature  dreads  and  despises, 
God  honored  on  the  cross,  and  took  unto  Himself,  and 
blest  and  consecrated  for  ever.  And  now,  blessed  are 
the  poor,  if  they  are  poor  in  heart  as  well  as  purse,  and 
theirs  is  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven.  Blessed  are  the  hun- 
gry, if  they  hunger  for  righteousness  as  well  as  food  : for 
Jesus  hungered,  and  they  shall  be  filled.  Blessed  are 
those  who  mourn,  if  they  mourn  not  only  for  their 
afflictions,  but  for  their  sins,  and  the  sins  of  those  they 
see  around  them  : for  on  this  day,  Jesus  mourned  for 
our  sins : on  this  day  He  was  made  sin  for  us  who 
knew  no  sin ; and  they  shall  be  comforted.  Blessed 
are  those  who  are  ashamed  of  themselves  and  humble 
themselves  before  God  this  day ; for  on  this  day  Jesus 
humbled  Himself  for  us,  and  they  shall  be  exalted. 
Blessed  are  the  forsaken  and  despised.  Did  not  all 
men  forsake  Jesus  this  day,  in  His  hour  of  need?  And 
why  not  thee,  too,  thou  poor  deserted  one?  Shall  the 
disciple  be  above  his  master?  No,  every  one  that  is 
perfect,  must  be  like  his  master.  The  deeper,  the  bit- 
terer your  loneliness,  the  more  you  are  like  Him  who 
cried  upon  the  cross,  ‘ My  God,  my  God,  why  hast 
Thou  forsaken  me?’  ...  All  things  are  blessed  now, 
but  sin ; for  all  things,  excepting  sin,  are  redeemed  by 
the  life  and  death  of  the  Son  of  God.  Blessed  are 
wisdom  and  courage,  joy  and  health,  and  beauty,  love 
and  marriage,  childhood  and  manhood,  corn  and  wine, 
fruits  and  flowers,  for  Christ  redeemed  them  by  His  life. 


The  Rector  in  his  Church  3 1 3 

And  blessed,  too,  are  tears  and  shame,  blessed  are 
weakness  and  ugliness,  blessed  are  agony  and  sickness, 
blessed  the  sad  remembrance  of  our  sins,  and  a broken 
heart,  and  a repentant  spirit.  Blessed  is  death,  and 
blessed  the  unknown  realms,  where  souls  await  the 
resurrection  day,  for  Christ  redeemed  them  by  His 
death.  Blessed  are  all  things,  weak  as  well  as  strong. 
Blessed  are  all  days,  dark  as  well  as  bright,  for  all  are 
His,  and  He  is  ours ; and  all  are  ours,  and  we  are  His, 
for  ever.  Therefore  sigh  on,  ye  sad  ones,  and  rejoice 
in  your  own  sadness;  ache  on,  ye  suffering  ones,  and 
rejoice  in  your  own  sorrows.  Rejoice  that  you  are 
made  free  of  the  holy  brotherhood  of  mourners,  that 
you  may  claim  your  place  too,  if  you  will,  among  the 
noble  army  of  martyrs.  Rejoice  that  you  are  counted 
worthy  of  a fellowship  in  the  sufferings  of  the  Son  of 
God.  Rejoice  and  trust  on,  for  after  sorrow  shall  come 
joy.  Trust  on ; for  in  man’s  weakness  God’s  strength 
shall  be  made  perfect.  Trust  on,  for  death  is  the  gate  of 
life.  Endure  on  to  the  end,  and  possess  your  souls  in 
patience  for  a little  while,  and  that  perhaps  a very  little 
while.  Death  comes  swiftly,  and  more  swiftly  still,  per- 
haps, the  day  of  the  Lord.  The  deeper  the  sorrow,  the 
nearer  the  salvation. 

The  night  is  darkest  before  the  dawn ; 

When  the  pain  is  sorest,  the  child  is  born, 

And  the  day  of  the  Lord  at  hand ! ” 

On  Easter  day  he  would  burst  forth  into  a song 
of  praise  once  more,  for  the  Blessed  Resurrection 
not  only  of  Christ  the  Lord,  but  of  man,  and  of 
the  dear  earth  he  loved  so  well  — spring  after 
winter,  birth  after  death.  Every  gnat  that  danced 
in  the  sunshine  on  the  blessed  Easter  morn, 
every  blade  of  grass  in  the  old  churchyard  spoke 
of  hope  and  joy  and  a living  God.  And  the 


314  Charles  Kingsley 

flowers  in  the  church,  and  the  graves  decked 
with  bright  wreaths  would  add  to  his  gladness, 
as  he  paced  up  and  down  the  narrow  gravel  path 
before  service.  Many  a testimony  has  come  to 
the  blessing  of  those  village  sermons.  “Twenty- 
five  Village  Sermons,”  said  a clergyman  working 
in  a great  city  parish,  “ like  a plank  to  a drown- 
ing man  kept  me  from  sinking  in  the  ‘ blackness 
of  darkness 9 which  surrounds  the  unbeliever. 
Leaning  upon  these,  while  carried  about  by  every 
wind  of  doctrine  I drifted  hither  and  thither,  at 
last,  thanks  be  to  God,  I found  standing  ground.” 
In  a preface  written  for  the  Village  Sermons  in 
1849,  but  subsequently  suppressed  for  fear  of  mis- 
conception, he  explained  why  he  had  adopted  the 
peculiar  method  of  preaching,  both  in  matter  and 
style,  which  offended  some,  while  it  arrested 
many: 

“ At  the  solicitation  of  several  friends,”  he  says,  “ I put 
these  sermons  into  print,  with  extreme  diffidence  as  to 
their  value  — a diffidence  much  increased  by  the  high 
standard  which  I have  most  unsuccessfully  proposed  to 
myself.  These  sermons  refer  chiefly  to  those  subjects 
which  are  less  commonly  than  others  expounded  in  the 
pulpit,  and  must  therefore  be  in  no  wise  taken  as  a com- 
plete confession  of  faith.  The  great  doctrines  of  the 
Gospel  will  be  found  rather  implicit  and  diffused  through 
them,  and  underlying  them  everywhere  as  their  primary 
ground,  than  formally  and  articulately  stated  in  them. 

“ (1)  To  such  a method  of  teaching  I have  been 
more  or  less  compelled  by  circumstances.  I have  found 
that,  in  my  own  parish  at  least,  the  minds  of  working 
men  have  been  inundated  by  a dogmatic  technology 
which  is,  by  their  own  confession,  utterly  beyond  the 
comprehension  of  the  great  majority,  while  repeated  use 


The  Rector  in  his  Church  3 1 5 

has  made  the  ears  of  too  many  of  the  rest  callous  to  the 
thread  of  vague  meaning  which  they  may  have  once 
attached  to  it.  The  same  objections  I found  to  hold 
good  also  against  a peculiar  phraseology,  which,  though 
it  calls  itself  scriptural,  is  yet  utterly  deficient  in  the 
lively  and  dramatic  terseness  of  the  Bible,  being  for  the 
most  part  a mere  patchwork  — I had  almost  said  parody 
— of  the  archaisms,  not  of  the  Scriptures  themselves, 
but  of  our  English  translation  of  them.  I have  therefore 
boldly  thrown  off  as  much  as  possible  conventional  forms 
and  technicalities  of  speech,  and  I believe  that  all  who 
do  the  same  will  be  rewarded  by  the  delight  with  which 
youths  and  men  of  the  laboring  classes  will  welcome 
the  Gospel  in  the  intelligible  form  of  their  own  mother- 
tongue. 

“ (2)  I must  also  say  that  I cannot  see  without 
astonishment  men  who  profess  unbounded  reverence 
for  Scripture,  utterly  and  intentionally  avoiding  every 
method  of  teaching  which  Scripture  employs.  In  the 
sermons  of  the  Prophets,  of  our  Lord,  of  the  Apostles, 
all  is  indicative,  personal,  pointed,  concrete ; with  most 
sermon  writers  of  this  day,  all  is  studiously  hypothetic, 
impersonal,  rounded,  and  abstract.  Scripture  deals  in 
dialogue  and  apostrophe  ; in  allusions  to  time  and  place 
and  detail,  and  almost  invariably  makes  passing  events 
the  ground  from  which  to  evolve  eternal  and  spiritual 
lessons ; most  modern  sermons,  on  the  contrary,  avoid 
carefully  all  which  can  connect  their  subject  with  the 
events  of  the  day,  with  the  peculiar  circumstances  or 
actual  every-day  life  and  business  of  their  hearers.  The 
honest  old  ‘ You  ’ and  ‘ 1/  for  instance,  are  ousted  by  a 
certain  dreamy  book-compiled  abstraction  ‘The  Chris- 
tian,’ or  else  for  € My  brethren,’  a phrase  whose  anti- 
quated form  alone,  if  we  will  consider,  proves  the 
unreality  of  our  own  use  of  it.  If  we  believe  that  our 
hearers  are  our  brothers , let  us  call  them  so.  It  is  a 


316  Charles  Kingsley 

poor  trick  to  soften  down  the  rebuke  which  that  word  con- 
veys to  ourselves,  by  watering  it  down  into  a vapid  ‘ breth- 
renThese  sermons  have  been  written  in  the  belief, 
that  true  reverence  for  Scripture  will  copy  its  manner,  as 
well  as  its  matter,  and  that  as  every  teacher  in  Scripture 
expresses  God’s  truth  in  the  language  and  style  peculiar 
to  his  own  time,  we  shall  best  follow  the  leading  of  God’s 
Spirit,  by  expressing  His  truth  in  the  style  and  language 
peculiar  neither  to  the  first,  nor  to  the  sixteenth,  but  to 
the  nineteenth  century. 

“ (3)  We  have,  I think,  again  much  injured  the  use- 
fulness of  our  preaching,  by  a squeamish  regard  for  that 
miserable  fiction,  ‘ the  dignity  of  the  pulpit,’  by  a horror 
of  our  words  and  thoughts  which  are  homely  and  ‘ collo- 
quial/ and  anything  less  than  sesquipedalian.  How 
much  of  this  may  have  proceeded  from  honest  bad  taste, 
how  much  from  a subtle  temptation  to  excuse  ourselves 
for  our  ignorance  of  the  speech  and  thought  of  the  very 
peasants  to  whom  we  are  commissioned  to  minister,  God 
alone  can  judge ; but  this  pedantry  must  be  thoroughly 
and  at  once  amended,  if  we  do  not  wish  to  be  called,  as 
I believe,  to  most  fearful  and  speedy  account  for  our 
remiss  use  of  that  tremendous  power  — the  undisturbed 
possession  of  the  pulpits  of  England. 

“ (4)  I must  now,  even  at  the  risk  of  being  misunder- 
stood, say  boldly  that  I believe  our  preaching  has  been 
of  late  years  sadly  chilled  and  tongue-tied  by  a certain 
rigid  idolatry  of  formulae,  and  a consequent  scrupulous 
terror  of  mere  verbal  and  accidental  heterodoxy : while 
most  seem  quite  unconscious  that  it  is  easy  to  preach 
sermons,  in  whose  words  the  most  scrupulous  theologian 
could  detect  no  flaw,  the  total  outcome  of  which  may 
nevertheless  be  utterly  heretical  — Manichaean,  for  in- 
stance, or  Apollinarian  — errors  which  are  at  this  very 
day  fearfully  rife,  among  nominally  orthodox  preachers 
of  every  shade  of  opinion. 


The  Rector  in  his  Church  3 1 7 

“ I may  have  erred  in  the  opposite  direction ; but  I 
have  been  less  solicitous  about  the  outward  and  treach- 
erous orthodoxy  of  the  understanding  than  about  the  far 
deeper  orthodoxy  of  the  spirit ; not  so  much  to  prove 
my  correctness  to  my  hearers  as  to  excite  correct 
notions  in  them.  My  hearers  were  ploughmen,  not 
schoolmen  — my  grammar  is  that  of  the  farm,  not  of 
the  university.  If  therefore  any  expressions  be  discov- 
ered in  my  sermons,  which,  when  separated  from  their 
context,  and  from  the  gist  of  the  whole  discourse  (as  is 
the  manner  of  critics),  do  not  exactly  fit  into  any  of  the 
current  systems  of  doctrine,  I answer  with  all  humility 
that  — I do  not  care.  I am  perfectly  assured  of  the 
orthodox  result  of  the  whole , and  equally  perfectly 
assured  that  any  one  who  wishes  really  to  touch  the 
souls  of  men,  must  apply  to  oratory  Augustine’s  glorious 
maxim,  * Ama  — et  fac  quicquid  vis  ' and  say  boldly, 

“ ‘ Crede  — et  die  quicquid  vis l ” 

His  sermons  owed  much  to  the  time  he  gave 
himself  for  preparation.  The  Sunday  services, 
while  they  exhausted  him  physically,  yet  seemed 
to  have  the  effect  of  winding  his  spirit  up  to 
higher  flights.  And  often  late  on  Sunday  even- 
ing he  would  talk  over  with  his  wife  the  subject 
and  text  for  the  next  week.  He  seldom  put  off 
his  sermon  till  Saturday.  On  Monday,  he  would, 
if  possible,  take  a rest,  but  on  Tuesday  it  was 
sketched,  and  the  first  half  carefully  thought  out 
before  it  was  dictated  or  written : then  put  by  for 
a day  or  two,  that  it  might  simmer  in  his  brain, 
and  be  finished  on  Friday.  But  none  who  read 
them  now  can  tell  what  it  was  to  hear  them,  and 
to  see  him,  and  the  look  of  inspiration  on  his 
face,  as  he  preached.  While  to  those  his  nearest 


3 1 8 Charles  Kingsley 

and  dearest,  who  looked  forward  with  an  ever-fresh 
intensity  of  interest  to  the  Eversley  Church  ser- 
vices week  after  week,  year  after  year,  each  ser- 
mon came  with  double  emphasis  from  the  fact 
that  his  week-day  life  was  no  contradiction,  but 
a noble  carrying  out  of  his  Sunday  teaching. 

“The  Eversley  Sunday,”  said  his  friend  and  curate, 
Mr.  Harrison,  “ was  very  characteristic  of  Mr.  Kingsley. 
It  was  not  to  him  far  above  the  level  of  every  other  day, 
but  then  his  every  other  day  was  far  above  the  ordinarily 
accepted  level.  One  thing  was  specially  observable 
about  it,  the  absence  of  all  artificial  solemnity  of  man- 
ner, and  exceptional  restraints  of  speech  and  conduct. 
Whatever  the  day  might  be  he  was  emphatically  always 
the  same.  He  would  chat  with  his  people  in  the  church- 
yard before  service  as  freely  and  as  humorously  as  he 
would  have  done  in  field  or  cottage.  The  same  vivid 
untiring  interest  in  nature  which  has  made  his  rambles 
by  the  chalk  streams  of  England,  and  through  the  high 
woods  of  Trinidad,  a source  of  perpetual  enjoyment  to 
his  readers,  would  flash  out  from  him  the  very  moment 
he  left  church,  if  anything  unusual  or  beautiful  attracted 
his  attention.  Yet  during  service  his  manner  was  always 
impressive ; and  at  times,  as  during  the  celebration  of 
the  Holy  Communion  — until  the  recent  judgment  he 
always  consecrated  in  the  eastward  position  — it  rose 
into  a reverence  that  was  most  striking  and  remarkable. 
It  was  not  the  reverence  of  a school.  It  was  evidently 
the  impulse  of  the  moment,  and  being  so,  was  not  pre- 
cise and  systematic.  Indeed,  his  individuality  came  out 
involuntarily  at  unexpected  moments,  in  a way  that 
occasionally  was  startling  to  those  who  did  not  know 
him,  and  amusing  to  those  who  did.  One  Sunday 
morning,  for  instance,  in  passing  from  the  altar  to  the 
pulpit  he  disappeared,  and  we  discovered  that  he  was 


The  Rector  in  his  Church  319 

searching  for  something  on  the  ground,  which  when 
found  was  carried  to  the  vestry.  Subsequently  it  came 
out  that  he  was  assisting  a lame  butterfly,  which  by  its 
beauty  had  attracted  his  attention,  and  which  was  in 
great  danger  of  being  trodden  on.  There  was  nothing 
incongruous,  nothing  of  the  nature  of  an  effort  to  him, 
in  turning  from  the  gravest  thoughts  and  duties  to  the 
simplest  acts  of  kindness,  and  observation  of  everything 
around  him.  * He  prayeth  best  who  loveth  best  all 
creatures  great  and  small.7 

“ Many  a heart  will  cherish  through  life  dear  mem- 
ories of  the  Eversley  sermons.  It  was  well  that  Chester 
and  Westminster  should  grow  familiar  with  the  tones  of 
his  voice  before  they  were  silenced  forever.  It  was  well 
that  men  and  women,  among  whom  his  name  had  been 
a household  word,  should  be  able,  Sunday  after  Sunday, 
to  come  in  crowds  to  listen  to  his  burning  words,  in  a 
place  befitting  his  genius,  and  his  message  to  them.  But 
to  my  mind  he  was  never  heard  to  greater  advantage 
than  in  his  own  village  pulpit.  I have  sometimes  been 
so  moved  by  what  he  then  said,  that  I could  scarcely 
restrain  myself  from  calling  out,  as  he  poured  forth  words 
now  exquisitely  sad  and  tender,  now  grand  and  heroic ; 
with  an  insight  into  character,  a knowledge  of  the  world, 
and  a sustained  eloquence  which,  each  in  its  own  way, 
was  matchless.” 

“ I never  did,”  said  the  Bishop  of  Truro,  “and  I be- 
lieve I never  shall,  see  anything  that  spoke  so  loud  for 
the  Church  of  England  as  never  to  be  put  away,  as  did 
the  morning  service  in  Eversley  Church,  whether  he  read 
or  whether  he  preached.  . . .” 

This  year,  begun  at  Eversley  and  ended  at  Tor- 
quay, was  one  of  much  anxiety  and  incessant 
labor.  Unable  to  get  a pupil,  he  was  therefore 
unable  to  keep  a curate.  The  Sunday  services, 


320  Charles  Kingsley 

night  schools,  and  cottage  lectures  were  done 
single-handed;  and  if  he  seemed  to  withdraw  from 
his  old  associates  in  the  cause  of  co-operation, 
and  of  the  working  men  in  London,  it  was  not 
from  want  of  interest,  but  of  time  and  strength. 
He  went  only  once  up  to  Town,  to  lecture  ,for  the 
Needlewomen’s  Association.  Constant  sickness 
in  the  parish  and  serious  illness  in  his  own  house- 
hold gave  him  great  anxiety;  while  the  proceed- 
ings of  the  King’s  College  Council  against  Mr. 
Maurice,  on  the  ground  of  his  views  on  eternal 
punishment,  depressed  him  deeply.  But  the 
year  had  its  lights  as  well  as  shadows;  he  had  the 
comfort  of  seeing  the  first  good  national  school 
built  and  opened  in  his  parish;  friends,  new  and 
old,  came  and  went  — Mr.  Maurice  frequently  — 
Bishop  McDougall  of  Labuan,  and  Mr.  Alfred 
Tennyson.  His  intimacy  with  Bishop  Wilber- 
force,  Chevalier  Bunsen,  and  Miss  Mitford  deep- 
ened ; he  made  the  personal  acquaintance  of  Mr. 
Robert  Browning  and  his  wife,  and  of  several  of 
his  hitherto  unknown  correspondents. 

“ Hypatia,”  perhaps  his  highest  work  of  art, 
this  year  came  out  as  a whole.  It  cost  him  more 
labor  than  any  of  his  books,  and  a friend,  who 
was  with  him  during  the  summer  in  which  part  of 
it  was  written,  says : 

“ I was  struck  not  only  with  his  power  of  work,  but 
with  the  extraordinary  pains  he  took  to  be  accurate  in 
detail.  We  spent  one  whole  day  in  searching  the  four 
folio  volumes  of  Synesius  for  a fact  he  thought  was  there, 
and  which  was  found  there  at  last.  The  hard  reading  he 
had  undergone  for  that  book  alone  would  furnish  an  an- 
swer to  some  who  thought  him  superficial.” 


Chevalier  Bunsen  321 

“ Hypatia  ” has  been  translated  into  German, 
into  Dutch,  and  into  Modern  Greek.  In  one  sec- 
tion of  the  English  Church  it  made  him  bitter 
enemies,  more  bitter,  perhaps,  than  were  stirred 
up  by  either  “ Yeast  ” or  the  “ Saint’s  Tragedy.” 
It  certainly  lost  him  his  D.C.  L.  degree  at  Ox- 
ford in  1863.  And  why?  but  because,  as  Dean 
Stanley  remarked,  of 

" . . . his  moral  enthusiasm,  which,  in  the  pages  of 
€ Hypatia/  has  scathed  with  an  everlasting  brand  the 
name  of  the  Alexandrian  Cyril  and  his  followers,  for  their 
outrages  on  humanity  and  morality  in  the  name  of  a hol- 
low Christianity  and  a spurious  orthodoxy.  Read,”  the 
Dean  adds,  “ if  you  would  learn  some  of  the  most  im- 
pressive lessons  of  Ecclesiastical  history,  — read  and 
inwardly  digest  those  pages,  perhaps  the  most  powerful 
he  ever  wrote  which  close  that  wonderful  story  discrim- 
inating the  destinies  which  awaited  each  of  its  characters 
as  they  passed,  one  after  another,  < each  to  his  own 
place.’  ” 

“ I want,”  wrote  Chevalier  Bunsen,  “ to  wish  you  joy 
for  the  wonderful  picture  of  the  inward  and  outward  life 
of  Hypatia’s  age,  and  of  the  creation  of  such  characters 
as  hers  and  Raphael’s,  and  the  other  protagonists.  . . . 
You  have  succeeded  in  epicizing,  poetically  and  philo- 
sophically, one  of  the  most  interesting  and  eventful  epochs 
of  the  world,  clothing  the  spirits  of  that  age  in  the  most 
attractive  fable ; you  resuscitate  the  real  history  of  the 
time  and  its  leading  characters  so  poetically  that  we 
forget  that  instruction  is  conferred  upon  us  in  every 
page.  . . . 

“ You  have  performed  a great  and  lasting  work,  but  it 
is  a bold  undertaking.  You  fire  over  the  heads  of  the 
public,  olol  vvv  fiporoL  eiVi,  as  Nestor  says,  the  pygmies  of 
the  circulating  library.  Besides  you  have  (pardon  me) 

VOL.  I.  — 21 


322  Charles  Kingsley 

wronged  your  own  child  most  cruelly.  Are  you  aware 
that  many  people  object  to  reading  or  allowing  it  to  be 
read,  because,  the  author  says  in  the  preface,  it  is  not 
written  for  those  of  pure  mind  ? 1 My  daughters  ex- 
claimed when  they  read  that  in  the  preface,  after  having 
read  to  their  mamma  the  whole  in  numbers  to  general 
edification,  as  they  do  Bible  and  Shakespeare  every  day. 
I should  wish  you  to  have  said  that,  in  describing  and 
picturing  an  age  like  that,  there  must  here  and  there  be 
nudities  as  in  nature  and  as  in  the  Bible.  Nudities  there 
are  because  there  is  truth.  For  God’s  sake,  let  that 
preface  not  come  before  Germany  without  some  modi- 
fied expression.  Impure  must  be  the  minds  who  can 
be  offended  or  hurt  by  your  picture  ! What  offends  and 
hurts  is  the  modern  Lilsternheit , that  veiling  over  inde- 
cency, exciting  imagination  to  draw  off  the  veil  in  order 
to  see  not  God’s  naked  nature,  but  corrupted  man’s  in- 
decency. Forgive  that  I take  the  child’s  part  against 
the  father.  But,  indeed,  that  expression  is  not  the  right, 
and  unjust  to  yourself,  and  besides  highly  detrimental  to 
the  book.  . . . 

1 The  passage  referred  to  is  the  opening  paragraph  of  the 
preface  where  the  author  says,  “ A picture  of  life  in  the  fifth  cen- 
tury must  needs  contain  much  which  will  be  painful  to  any  reader, 
and  which  the  young  and  innocent  will  do  well  to  leave  altogether 
unread.  It  has  to  represent  a very  hideous,  though  a very  great, 
age ; one  of  those  critical  and  cardinal  eras  in  the  history  of  the 
human  race,  in  which  virtues  and  vices  manifest  themselves  side 
by  side  — even,  at  times,  in  the  same  person — with  the  most 
startling  openness  and  power.  One  who  writes  of  such  an  era 
labors  under  a troublesome  disadvantage.  He  dare  not  tell  how 
evil  people  were ; he  will  not  be  believed  if  he  tell  how  good  they 
were.  In  the  present  case  that  disadvantage  is  doubled ; for 
while  the  sins  of  the  Church,  however  heinous,  were  still  such  as 
admit  of  being  expressed  in  words,  the  sins  of  the  heathen  world 
against  which  she  fought,  were  utterly  indescribable ; and  the 
Christian  apologist  is  thus  compelled,  for  the  sake  of  decency,  to 
state  the  Church's  case  far  more  weakly  than  the  facts  deserve." 
— Preface  to  “ Hypatia." 


Theological  Essays  323 

" The  times  before  us  are  brimful  of  destruction,  — 
therefore  of  regeneration.  The  Nemesis  is  coming,  as 
Ate.  Ever  yours  faithfully, 

“ Bunsen.” 

TO  MRS.  GASKELL 

July  25,  1853.  — “I  am  sure  that  you  will  excuse  my 
writing  to  you  thus  abruptly  when  you  read  the  cause  of 
my  writing.  I am  told,  to  my  great  astonishment,  that 
you  have  heard  painful  speeches  on  account  of  ‘ Ruth  ; ’ 
what  was  told  me  raised  all  my  indignation  and  disgust. 
Now  I have  read  only  a little  (though,  of  course,  I know 
the  story)  of  the  book ; for  the  same  reason  that  I can- 
not read  ‘Uncle  Tom’s  Cabin,’ or  ‘ Othello,’  or  ‘The 
Bride  of  Lammermoor.’  It  is  too  painfully  good,  as  I 
found  before  I had  read  half  a volume.  But  this  I can 
tell  you,  that  among  all  my  largo  acquaintance  I never 
heard,  or  have  heard,  but  one  unanimous  opinion  of  the 
beauty  and  righteousness  of  the  book,  and  that,  above 
all,  from  real  ladies , and  really  good  women.  If  you 
could  have  heard  the  things  which  I heard  spoken  of  it 
this  evening  by  a thorough  High  Church  fine  lady  of  the 
world,  and  by  her  daughter,  too,  as  pure  and  pious  a 
soul  as  one  need  see,  you  would  have  no  more  doubt 
than  I have,  that  whatsoever  the  ‘ snobs  ’ and  the  bigots 
may  think,  English  people,  in  general,  have  but  one 
opinion  of  ‘ Ruth,’  and  that  is,  one  of  utter  satisfaction. 
I doubt  not  you  have  had  this  said  to  you  already  often. 
Believe  me,  you  may  have  it  said  to  you  as  often  as  you 
will  by  the  purest  and  most  refined  of  English  women. 
May  God  bless  you,  and  help  you  to  write  many  more 
such  books  as  you  have  already  written,  is  the  fervent 
wish  of  your  very  faithful  servant. 

“ C.  Kingsley.” 

Mr.  Maurice’s  volume  of  “Theological  Essays” 
appeared  this  year  containing  one  on  Eternal  Life 


324  Charles  Kingsley 

and  Death,  which  was  the  cause  of  his  dismissal 
from  King’s  College.  The  subject  had  occupied 
Mr.  Kingsley’s  own  mind  for  years;  and  the  per- 
secution of  his  friend  and  teacher  roused  all  his 
chivalry.  “The  book  seemed  to  him,”  he  said, 
“to  mark  a new  era  in  English  Ecclesiastical 
History.”  He  at  once  took  counsel  with  friends 
at  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  before  getting  up  a 
protest  against  the  proceedings  of  the  council  of 
King’s  College. 

“ ‘ The  Time  and  Eternity  Question/  ” he  says,  in 
writing  to  a friend,  “ is  coming  before  the  public  just 
now  in  a way  which  may  seriously  affect  our  friend 
Maurice,  unless  all  who  love  him  make  good  fight. 
Maurice’s  essays,  as  you  say,  will  constitute  an  epoch. 
If  the  Church  of  England  rejects  them,  her  doom  is 
fixed.  She  will  rot  and  die,  as  the  Alexandrian  did 
before  her.  If  she  accepts  them  — not  as  ‘a  code  com- 
plete/ but  as  hints  towards  a new  method  of  thought, 
she  may  save  herself  still.  . . .” 

“ . . . Well,  dearest  master/’  he  writes  to  Mr. 
Maurice,  “ I shall  not  condole  with  you.  You  are 
above  that : but  only  remind  you  of  this  day’s  Psalms, 
30th,  which  have  been  to  me,  strangely  enough,  the 
Psalms  for  the  day  in  all  great  crises  of  my  life.  . . . 
You  know  what  I feel  for  you.  But  your  cause  is  mine. 
We  swim  in  the  same  boat,  and  stand  or  fall  henceforth 
together.  I am  the  mouse  helping  the  lion  — with  this 
difference,  that  the  mouse  was  out- side  the  net  when 
she  gnawed  it,  while  I am  inside . For  if  you  are  con- 
demned for  these  ‘ opinions  ’ I shall  and  must  therefo7'e 
avow  them.  ...  I was  utterly  astonished  at  finding  in 
page  after  page  things  which  I had  thought,  and  hardly 
dared  to  confess  to  myself,  much  less  to  preach.  How- 
ever, you  have  said  them  now ; and  I,  gaining  courage, 


Thomas  Cooper  325 

have  begun  to  speak  more  and  more  boldly,  thanks  to 
your  blessed  example,  in  a set  of  sermons  on  the 
Catechism,  accompanying  your  angel’s  trump  on  my 
private  penny-whistle.  ...  I was  struck  the  other  day 
by  the  pleasure  which  a sermon  of  mine  gave  not  only 
to  my  clods,  but  to  the  best  of  my  high  church  gentry, 
in  which  sermon  I had  just  copied  word  for  word  your 
Essay  on  Eternal  Life  and  Death  — of  course  stating  the 
thing  more  coarsely,  and  therefore  more  dangerously  than 
your  wisdom  would  have  let  you  do.  ...  I am  too  un- 
happy about  you  to  say  much.  I always  expected  it ; 
but  yet,  when  it  comes  one  cannot  face  it  a bit  the  better. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  but  a passing  storm  of  dust.” 

The  following  are  extracts  given  without  regard 
to  dates,  from  letters  to  Mr.  Thomas  Cooper, 
Chartist,  author  of  the  “ Purgatory  of  Suicides.  ” 
When  Mr.  Kingsley  first  knew  Thomas  Cooper, 
he  was  lecturing  on  Strauss,  to  working  men ; but 
after  a long  struggle  his  doubts  were  solved.  He 
is  now,  at  the  age  of  70,  a preacher  of  Christianity.1 

February  15,  1850.  — “ Many  thanks  for  your  paper. 
On  Theological  points  I will  say  nothing.  VVe  must 
have  a good  long  stand-up  fight  some  day,  when  we 
have  wind  and  time.  In  the  mean  time,  I will  just  say, 
that  I believe  as  devoutly  as  you,  Goethe,  or  Strauss, 
that  God  never  does  — if  one  dare  use  the  word,  never 
can  — break  the  Laws  of  Nature,  which  are  His  Laws, 
manifestations  of  the  eternal  ideas  of  His  Spirit  and 
Word  — but  that  Christ’s  Miracles  seem  to  me  the 
highest  realizations  of  those  very  laws.  How  ? you 
will  ask  — to  which  I answer,  you  must  let  me  tell 


1 Thomas  Cooper’s  autobiography,  published  by  Hodder  and 
>&toughton  in  1872,  is  a book  well  worth  reading  for  its  own  sake 
'and  for  the  pictures  of  working-class  life  and  thought,  which  it 
reveals. 


326  Charles  Kingsley 

you  by  and  by.  Your  thinkings  from  Carlyle  are  well 
chosen.  There  is  much  in  Carlyle’s  ‘ Chartism  ’ and 
the  ‘ French  Revolution/  and  also  in  a paper  called 
c Characteristics/  among  the  miscellanies,  which  is  1 good 
doctrine  and  profitable  for  this  age.’  I cannot  say  what 
/ personally  owe  to  that  man’s  writings. 

“ But  you  are  right,  a thousand  times  right,  in  saying 
that  the  [co-operative]  movement  is  a more  important 
move  than  any  Parliamentary  one.  It  is  to  get  room 
and  power  for  such  works,  and  not  merely  for  any 
abstract  notions  of  political  right  that  I fight  for  the 
suffrage.  I am  hard  at  work  — harder,  the  doctors  say, 
than  is  wise.  But  ‘ the  days  are  evil,  and  we  must 
redeem  the  time/  — Our  one  chance  for  all  the  Eterni- 
ties, to  do  a little  work  in  for  God  and  the  people,  for 
whom,  as  I believe,  He  gave  His  well-beloved  Son. 
That  is  the  spring  of  my  work,  Thomas  Cooper ; it  will 
be  yours;  consciously  or  unconsciously  it  is  now,  for 
aught  I know,  if  you  be  the  man  I take  you  for.  ...” 

Eversley  : November  2,  1853.  — “.  . . Your  friend 
is  a very  noble  fellow.1  As  for  converting  either  you  or 

1 This  refers  to  a letter  in  which  Thomas  Cooper  says,  “ My 
friend,  a noble  young  fellow,  says,  you  are  trying  to  convert  him 
to  orthodoxy,  and  expresses  great  admiration  for  you.  I wish 
you  success  with  him,  and  I had  almost  said  I wish  you  could 
next  succeed  with  me  ; but  I think  I am  likely  to  stick  where  I 
have  stuck  for  some  yagrs  — - never  lessening,  but  I think  increas- 
ing, in  my  love  for  the  truly  divine  Jesus  — but  retaining  the 
Strauss  view  of  the  Gospel.”  “ Ah  ! that  grim  Strauss,”  he  says 
in  a later  letter,  “ how  he  makes  the  iron  agony  go  through  my 
bones  and  marrow,  when  I am  yearning  to  get  hold  of  Christ ! 
But  you  understand  me  ? Can  you  help  me  ? I wish  I could  be 
near  you,  so  as  to  have  a long  talk  with  you  often.  I wish  you 
could  show  me  that  Strauss's  preface  is  illogical,  and  that  it  is 
grounded  on  a petitio principii.  I wish  you  could  bring  me  into 
a full  and  hearty  reception  of  this  doctrine  of  the  Incarnation.  I 
wish  you  could  lift  off  the  dead  weight  from  my  head  and  heart, 
that  blasting,  brutifying  thought,  that  the  grave  must  be  my 
‘ end  all.'” 


Thomas  Cooper  327 

him,  — what  I want  to  do,  is  to  make  people  believe  in 
the  Incarnation,  as  the  one  solution  of  all  one’s  doubts 
and  fears  for  all  heaven  and  earth ; wherefore  I should 
say  boldly,  that,  even  if  Strauss  were  right,  the  thing 
must  either  have  happened  somewhere  else,  or  will 
happen  somewhere  some  day,  so  utterly  does  both  my 
reason  and  conscience,  and,  as  I think,  judging  from 
history,  the  reason  and  conscience  of  the  many  in  all 
ages  and  climes,  demand  an  Incarnation.  As  for 
Strauss,  I have  read  a great  deal  of  him,  and  his  pref- 
ace carefully.  Of  the  latter,  I must  say  that  it  is 
utterly  illogical,  founded  on  a gross  petitio  principii ; as 
for  the  mass  of  the  book,  I would  undertake,  by  the 
same  fallacious  process,  to  disprove  the  existence  of 
Strauss  himself,  or  any  other  phenomenon  in  heaven  or 
earth.  But  all  this  is  a long  story.  As  long  as  you  do 
see  in  Jesus  the  perfect  ideal  of  man,  you  are  in  the 
right  path , you  are  going  toward  the  light,  whether  or 
not  you  may  yet  be  allowed  to  see  certain  consequences 
which,  as  I believe,  logically  follow  from  the  fact  of  His 
being  the  ideal.  Poor  ****’s  denial  (for  so  I am  told) 
of  Jesus  being  the  ideal  of  a good  man,  is  a more  serious 
evil  far.  And  yet  Jesus  Himself  said,  that,  if  any  one 
spoke  a word  against  the  Son  of  Man  (/.  e . against  Him 
as  the  perfect  man)  it  should  be  forgiven  him ; but  the 
man  who  could  not  be  forgiven  either  in  this  world  or 
that  to  come,  was  the  man  who  spoke  against  the  Holy 
Spirit,  i.  e . who  had  lost  his  moral  sense  and  did  not 
know  what  was  righteous  when  he  saw  it  — a sin  into 
which  we  parsons  are  as  likely  to  fall  as  any  men,  much 
more  likely  than  the  publicans  and  sinners.  As  long 
as  your  friend  or  any  other  man  loves  the  good  and 
does  it,  and  hates  the  evil  and  flees  from  it,  my  Catholic 
creeds  tell  me  that  the  Spirit  of  Jesus,  ‘the  Word/  is 
teaching  that  man ; and  gives  me  hope  that  either  here 
or  hereafter,  if  he  be  faithful  over  a few  things,  he  shall 


328  Charles  Kingsley 

be  taught  much.  You  see,  this  is  quite  a different  view 
from  either  the  Dissenters  or  Evangelicals,  or  even  the 
High-Church  parsons.  But  it  is  the  view  of  those  old 
‘ Fathers  ’ whom  they  think  they  honor,  and  whom  they 
will  find  one  day,  in  spite  of  many  errors  and  supersti- 
tions, to  be  far  more  liberal,  humane,  and  philosophical 
than  our  modern  religionists.  * . .” 

Torquay:  1854.  — “I  am  now  very  busy  at  two 
things.  Working  at  the  sea-animals  of  Torbay  for  Mr. 
Gosse,  the  naturalist,  and  thundering  in  behalf  of  sani- 
tary reform.  Those  who  fancy  me  a ‘ sentimentalist  * 
and  a t fanatic  1 little  know  how  thoroughly  my  own  bent 
is  for  physical  science ; how  I have  been  trained  in  it 
from  earliest  boyhood ; how  I am  happier  now  in 
classifying  a new  polype,  or  solving  a geognostic  prob- 
lem of  strata,  or  any  other  bit  of  hard  Baconian  induc- 
tion, than  in  writing  all  the  novels  in  the  world ; or  how, 
again,  my  theological  creed  has  grown  slowly  and  natu- 
rally out  of  my  physical  one,  till  I have  seen,  and  do 
believe  more  and  more  utterly,  that  the  peculiar  doc- 
trines of  Christianity  (as  they  are  in  the  Bible,  not  as 
some  preachers  represent  them  from  the  pulpit)  coin- 
cide with  the  loftiest  and  severest  science.  This  blessed 
belief  did  not  come  to  me  at  once,  and  therefore  I com- 
plain of  no  man  who  arrives  at  it  slowly,  either  from  the 
scientific  or  religious  side  ; nor  have  I yet  spoken  out 
all  that  is  in  me,  much  less  all  that  I see  coming ; but  I 
feel  that  I am  on  a right  path,  and  please  God,  I will 
hold  it  to  the  end.  I see  by  the  by  that  you  have 
given  out  two  ‘ Orations  against  taking  away  human  life/ 
I should  be  curious  to  hear  what  a man  like  you  says  on 
the  point,  for  I am  sure  you  are  free  from  any  effemi- 
nate sentimentalism,  and  by  your  countenance,  would 
make  a terrible  and  good  fighter,  in  a good  cause.  It 
is  a painful  and  difficult  subject.  After  much  thought,  I 
have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  you  cannot  take  away 


Thomas  Cooper  329 

human  life.  That  animal  life  is  all  you  take  away ; 
and  that  very  often  the  best  thing  you  can  do  for  a poor 
creature  is  to  put  him  out  of  this  world,  saying,  ‘You 
are  evidently  unable  to  get  on  here.  We  render  you 
back  into  God’s  hands  that  He  may  judge  you,  and  set 
you  to  work  again  somewhere  else,  giving  you  a fresh 
chance  as  you  have  spoilt  this  one.’  But  I speak  really 
in  doubt  and  awe.  . . . When  I have  read  your 
opinions  I will  tell  you  why  I think  the  judicial  taking 
away  animal  life  to  be  the  strongest  assertion  of  the 
dignity  and  divineness  of  human  life ; 1 and  the  taking 
away  life  in  wars  the  strongest  assertion  of  the  dignity 
and  divineness  of  national  life.” 

1855. — “ * * * * sent  me  some  time  ago  a letter  of 
yours,  in  which  you  express  dissatisfaction  with  the  ‘ soft 
indulgence  ’ which  I and  Maurice  attribute  to  God.  . . . 

“ My  belief  is,  that  God  will  punish  (and  has  punished 
already  somewhat)  every  wrong  thing  I ever  did,  unless 
I repent  — that  is,  change  my  behavior  therein ; and 
that  His  lightest  blow  is  hard  enough  to  break  bone  and 
marrow.  But  as  for  saying  of  any  human  being  whom  I 
ever  saw  on  earth  that  there  is  no  hope  for  them ; that 
even  if,  under  the  bitter  smart  of  just  punishment,  they 
opened  their  eyes  to  their  folly,  and  altered  their  minds, 
even  then  God  would  not  forgive  them ; as  for  saying 
that,  I will  not  for  all  the  world,  and  the  rulers  thereof. 
I never  saw  a man  in  whom  there  was  not  some  good, 
and  I believe  that  God  sees  that  good  far  more  clearly, 
and  loves  it  far  more  deeply,  than  I can,  because  He 
Himself  put  it  there,  and,  therefore,  it  is  reasonable  to 
believe  that  He  will  educate  and  strengthen  that  good, 
and  chastise  and  scourge  the  holder  of  it  till  he  obeys  it, 
and  loves  it,  and  gives  up  himself  to  it ; and  that  the 
said  holder  will  find  such  chastisement  terrible  enough, 

1 See  Sermon  on  Capital  Punishment,  preached  in  1870,  by 
Rev.  C.  Kingsley.  (All  Saints’  Day  and  other  Sermons.) 


330  Charles  Kingsley 

if  he  is  unruly  and  stubborn,  I doubt  not,  and  so  much 
the  better  for  him.  Beyond  this  I cannot  say ; but  I 
like  your  revulsion  into  stern  puritan  vengeance  — it  is 
a lunge  too  far  the  opposite  way,  like  Carlyle’s;  but 
anything  better  than  the  belief  that  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  was  sent  into  the  world  to  enable  any  man  to  be 
infinitely  rewarded  without  doing  anything  worth  re- 
warding— anything,  oh!  God  of  mercy  as  well  as  jus- 
tice, than  a creed  which  strengthens  the  heart  of  the 
wicked,  by  promising  him  life,  and  makes  * * * * * * * 
believe  (as  I doubt  not  he  does  believe)  that  though 
a man  is  damned  here  his  soul  is  saved  hereafter. 
Write  to  me.  Your  letters  do  me  good.” 

1856.  — “You  have  an  awful  and  glorious  work 
before  you,1  and  you  do  seem  to  be  going  about  it  in 
the  right  spirit  — namely,  in  a spirit  of  self-humiliation. 
Don’t  be  downhearted  if  outward  humiliation,  failure, 
insult,  apparent  loss  of  influence,  come  out  of  it  at  first. 
If  God  be  indeed  our  Father  in  any  real  sense,  then, 
whom  He  loveth,  He  chasteneth,  even  as  a father  the 
son  in  whom  he  delighteth.  And  ‘Till  thou  art  emptied 
of  thyself,  God  cannot  fill  thee,’  though  it  be  a saw  of 
the  old  mystics,  is  true  and  practical  common  sense. 
God  bless  you  and  prosper  you.  . . . 

“ . . . Your  letter  this  morning  delighted  me,  for  I 
see  that  you  see.  If  you  are  an  old  hand  at  the  Socratic 
method,  you  will  be  saved  much  trouble.  I can  quite 
understand  young  fellows  kicking  at  it.  Plato  always 
takes  care  to  let  us  see  how  alb  but  the  really  earnest 
kicked  at  it,  and  flounced  off  in  a rage,  having  their  own 
notions  torn  to  rags,  and  scattered,  but  nothing  new  put 
in  the  place  thereof.  It  seems  to  me  (I  speak  really 
humbly  here)  that  the  danger  of  the  Socratic  method, 
which  issued,  two  or  three  generations  after,  in  making 

1 Thomas  Cooper  had  now  re-commenced  lecturing  at  the  Hall 
of  Science  on  Sunday  evenings,  simply  teaching  theism,  for  he 
had  not  advanced  farther  yet  in  positive  conviction. 


Thomas  Cooper  331 

his  so-called  pupils  the  academics  mere  destroying 
skeptics,  priding  themselves  on  picking  holes  in  every- 
thing positive,  is  this  — to  use  it  without  Socrates’  great 
Idea , which  he  expressed  by  ' all  knowledge  being 
memory,’  which  the  later  Platonists,  both  Greek  and 
Jew,  e . g.,  Philo  and  St.  John,  and  after  them  the  good 
among  the  Roman  Stoics  and  our  early  Quakers,  and 
German  mystics,  expressed  by  saying  that  God,  or 
Christ,  or  the  Word,  was  more  or  less  in  every  man, 
the  Light  which  lightened  him.  Letting  alone  formal 
phraseology,  what  I mean,  and  what  Socrates  meant, 
was  this,  to  confound  people’s  notions  and  theories, 
only  to  bring  them  to  look  their  own  reason  in  the  face, 
and  to  tell  them  boldly : you  know  these  things  at  heart 
already,  if  you  will  only  look  at  what  you  know,  and 
clear  from  your  own  spirit  the  mists  which  your  mere 
brain  and  ‘ organization  ’ has  wrapt  round  them.  Men 
may  be  at  first  more  angry  than  ever  at  this ; they  will 
think  you  accuse  them  of  hypocrisy  when  you  tell  them 
‘ you  know  that  I am  right,  and  you  wrong ; ’ but  it  will 
do  them  good  at  last.  It  will  bring  them  to  the  one 
great  truth,  that  they  too  have  a Teacher,  a Guide,  an 
Inspirer,  a Father : that  you  are  not  asserting  for  your- 
self any  new  position,  which  they  have  not  attained, 
but  have  at  last  found  out  the  position  which  has  been 
all  along  equally  true  of  them  and  you,  that  you  are  all 
God’s  children,  and  that  your  Father’s  Love  is  going  out 
to  seek  and  to  save  them  and  you,  by  the  only  possible 
method,  viz.,  teaching  them  that  He  is  their  Father. 

“ I am  very  anxious  to  hear  your  definition  of  a 
person . I have  not  been  able  yet  to  get  one,  or  a 
proof  of  personal  existence  which  does  not  spring  from 
a priori  subjective  consciousness,  and  which  is,  in  fact, 
Fichte’s.  ‘ I am  I.’  I know  it.  Take  away  my  ‘ or- 
ganization,’ cast  my  body  to  the  crows  or  the  devil, 
logically  or  physically,  strip  me  of  all  which  makes  me 


332  Charles  Kingsley 

palpable  to  you  and  to  the  universe,  still  I have  the 
unconquerable  knowledge  that  ‘ I am  1/  and  must  and 
shall  be  so  for  ever.  How  I get  this  idea  I know  not : 
but  it  is  the  most  precious  of  all  convictions,  as  it  is  the 
first;  and  I can  only  suppose  it  is  a revelation  from 
God,  whose  image  it  is  in  me,  and  the  first  proof  of  my 
being  His  child.  My  spirit  is  a person ; and  the  child 
of  the  Absolute  Person,  the  Absolute  Spirit.  And  so  is 
yours,  and  yours,  and  yours.  In  saying  that,  I go  on 

‘ Analogy/  which  is  Butler’s  word  for  fair  Baconian 

Induction.  I find  that  I am  absolutely  I,  an  individual 
and  indissoluble  person ; therefore  I am  bound  to 
believe  at  first  sight  that  you,  and  you,  and  you  are 

such  also.  . . . This  is  all  I seem  to  know  about  it 

as  yet. 

“ But  how  utterly  right  you  are  in  beginning  to  teach 
the  real  meaning  of  words,  which  people  now  (parsons 
as  well  as  atheists)  use  in  the  loosest  way.  Take  even 
‘ organization,’  paltry  word  as  it  is,  and  make  them 
analyze  it,  and  try  if  they  can  give  any  definition  of  it 
(drawn  from  its  real  etymology)  which  does  not  imply  a 
person  distinct  from  the  organs,  or  tools,  and  organizing 
or  arranging  those  tools  with  a mental  view  to  a result. 
I should  advise  you  to  stick  stoutly  by  old  Paley.  He 
is  right  at  root,  and  I should  advise  you,  too,  to  make 
your  boast  of  Baconian  Induction  being  on  your  side, 
and  not  on  theirs ; for  ‘ many  a man  talks  of  Robin 
Hood  who  never  shot  in  his  bow,’  and  the  ‘ Reasoner  ’ 
party,  while  they  prate  about  the  triumphs  of  science, 
never,  it  seems  to  me,  employ  intentionally  in  a single 
sentence  the  very  inductive  method  whereby  that  sci- 
ence has  triumphed.  ...  Be  of  good  cheer.  When 
the  wicked  man  turneth  from  his  wickedness  (then, 
there  and  then),  he  shall  save  his  soul  alive  — as  you 
seem  to  be  consciously  doing,  and  all  his  sin  and  his 
iniquity  shall  not  be  mentioned  unto  him.  What  your 


Thomas  Cooper  333 

< measure  ’ of  guilt  (if  there  can  be  a measure  of  the 
incommensurable  spiritual)  I know  not.  But  this  I 
know,  that  as  long  as  you  keep  the  sense  of  guilt  alive 
in  your  own  mind,  you  will  remain  justified  in  God’s 
mind ; as  long  as  you  set  your  sins  before  your  face, 
He  will  set  them  behind  his  back.  Do  you  ask  how  I 
know  that?  I will  not  quote  ‘ texts,’  though  there  are 
dozens.  I will  not  quote  my  own  spiritual  experience, 
though  I could  honestly  : I will  only  say,  that  such  a 
moral  law  is  implied  in  the  very  idea  of  ‘ Our  Father 
in  heaven.’  ...” 

. . You  must  come  and  see  me,  and  talk  over 
many  things.  That  is  what  I want.  An  evening’s 
smoke  and  chat  in  my  den,  and  a morning’ s walk  on  our 
heather  moors,  would  bring  our  hearts  miles  nearer  each 
other,  and  our  heads  too.  As  for  the  political  move, 
I can  give  you  no  advice  save,  say  little,  and  do  less.  I 
am  ready  for  all  extensions  of  the  franchise,  if  we  have 
a gove7'nment  system  of  education  therewith  : till  then  I 
am  merely  stupidly  acquiescent.  More  poor  and  igno- 
rant voters?  Very  well  — more  bribees ; more  bribers; 
more  pettifogging  attorneys  in  parliament ; more  local 
interests  preferred  to  national  ones ; more  substitution 
of  the  delegate  system  for  the  representative  one.  . . .” 

June  14,  1856.  — “ It  is,  I know  it,  a low  aim  (I  don’t 
mean  morally)  for  a man  who  has  had  the  aspirations 
which  you  have ; but  may  not  our  Heavenly  Father  just 
be  bringing  you  through  this  seemingly  degrading  work,1 
to  give  you  what  I should  think  you  never  had,  — what  it 
cost  me  bitter  sorrow  to  learn,  — the  power  of  working  in 
harness,  and  so  actually  drawing  something,  and  being 

1 Thomas  Cooper  had  been  given  copying  work  at  the  Board  of 
Health ; and  his  hearers  at  the  Hall  of  Science,  already  made  bit- 
ter by  his  deserting  the  atheist  camp,  made  the  fact  of  his  doing 
government  work  and  taking  government  pay  a fresh  ground  of 
opposition  to  his  teaching. 


334  Charles  Kingsley 

of  real  use.  Be  sure,  if  you  can  once  learn  that 
lesson,  in  addition  to  the  rest  you  have  learnt,  you 
will  rise  to  something  worthy  of  you  yet.  ...  It  has 
seemed  to  me,  in  watching  you  and  your  books,  and 
your  life,  that  just  what  you  wanted  was  self-control.  I 
don't  mean  that  you  could  not  starve,  die  piece-meal, 
for  what  you  thought  right ; for  you  are  a brave  man, 
and  if  you  had  not  been,  you  would  not  have  been  alive 
now.  But  it  did  seem  to  me,  that  what  you  wanted  was  the 
quiet,  stern  cheerfulness,  which  sees  that  things  are  wrong, 
and  sets  to  to  right  them,  but  does  it  trying  to  make  the 
best  of  them  all  the  while,  and  to  see  the  bright  side  ; and 
even  if,  as  often  happens,  there  be  no  bright  side  to  see, 
still  ‘ possesses  his  soul  in  patience,’  and  sits  whistling 
and  working  till  ‘ the  pit  be  digged  for  the  ungodly.’ 

“ Don’t  be  angry  with  me  and  turn  round  and  say, 
‘ You,  sir,  who  never  knew  what  it  was  to  want  a meal  in 
your  life,  who  belong  to  the  successful  class  who  have , — 
what  do  you  mean  by  preaching  these  cold  platitudes  to 
me  ? ’ For,  Thomas  Cooper,  I have  known  what  it  was 
to  want  things  more  precious  to  you,  as  well  as  to  me, 
than  a full  stomach ; and  I learnt  — or  rather  I am 
learning  a little  — to  wait  for  them  till  God  sees  good. 
And  the  man  who  wrote  ‘ Alton  Locke  ’ must  know  a 
little  of  what  a man  like  you  could  feel  to  a man  like  me, 
if  the  devil  entered  into  him.  And  yet  I tell  you, 
Thomas  Cooper,  that  there  was  a period  in  my  life  — 
and  one  not  of  months,  but  for  years,  in  which  I would 
have  gladly  exchanged  your  circumstantia,  yea,  your- 
self, as  it  is  now,  for  my  circumstantia,  and  myself,  as 
they  were  then.  And  yet  I had  the  best  of  parents  and 
a home,  if  not  luxurious,  still  as  good  as  any  man’s  need 
be.  You  are  a far  happier  man,  now,  I firmly  believe, 
than  I was  for  years  of  my  life.  The  dark  cloud  has  passed 
with  me  now.  Be  but  brave  and  patient,  and  (I  ivill 
swear  now),  by  God,  sir  ! it  will  pass  with  you.” 


Thomas  Cooper  335 

June,  1856. — “ You  are  in  the  right  way  yet.  I can 
put  you  in  no  more  right  way.  Your  sense  of  sin  is  not 
fanaticism ; it  is,  I suppose,  simple  consciousness  of  fact. 
As  for  helping  you  to  Christ,  I do  not  believe  I can  one 
inch.  I see  no  hope  but  in  prayer,  in  going  to  Him 
yourself,  and  saying  : ‘ Lord,  if  Thou  art  there,  if  Thou 
art  at  all,  if  this  all  be  not  a lie,  fulfil  Thy  reputed 
promises,  and  give  me  peace  and  the  sense  of  forgive- 
ness, and  the  feeling  that,  bad  as  I may  be,  Thou  lovest 
me  still,  seeing  all,  understanding  all,  and  therefore 
making  allowances  for  all ! 7 I have  had  to  do  that  in 
past  days ; to  challenge  Him  through  outer  darkness 
and  the  silence  of  night,  till  I almost  expected  that  He 
would  vindicate  His  own  honor  by  appearing  visibly  as 
He  did  to  St.  Paul  and  St.  John  ; but  He  answered  in  the 
still  small  voice  only ; yet  that  was  enough. 

“ Read  the  book  by  all  means ; but  the  book  will  not 
reveal  Him.  He  is  not  in  the  book  ; He  is  in  the  Heaven 
which  is  as  near  you  and  me  as  the  air  we  breathe,  and 
out  of  that  He  must  reveal  Himself ; — neither  priests 
nor  books  can  conjure  Him  up,  Cooper.  Your  Wesleyan 
teachers  taught  you,  perhaps,  to  look  for  Him  in  the 
book,  as  Papists  would  have  in  the  bread ; and  when  you 
found  He  was  not  in  the  book,  you  thought  Him  no- 
where ; but  He  is  bringing  you  out  of  your  first  mistaken 
idolatry,  ay,  through  it,  and  through  all  wild  wanderings 
since,  to  know  Him  Himself,  and  speak  face  to  face 
with  Him  as  a man  speaks  with  his  friend.  Have 
patience  with  Him.  Has  He  not  had  patience  with 
you?  And  therefore  have  patience  with  all  men  and 
things;  and  then  you  will  rise  again  in  His  good  time  the 
stouter  for  your  long  battle.  . . . 

. . For  yourself,  my  dear  friend,  the  secret  of  life 
for  you  and  for  me,  is  to  lay  our  purposes  and  characters 
continually  before  Him  who  made  them,  and  cry,  ‘ Do 
Thou  purge  me,  and  so  alone  I shall  be  clean.  Thou 


336  Charles  Kingsley 

reauirest  truth  in  the  inward  parts.  Thou  wilt  make 
me  to  understand  wisdom  secretly.’  What  more  rational 
belief?  For  surely  if  there  be  any  God,  and  He  made 
us  at  first,  He  who  makes  can  also  mend  His  own  work 
if  it  get  out  of  gear.  What  more  miraculous  in  the 
doctrines  of  regeneration  and  renewal,  than  in  the  mere 
fact  of  creation  at  all  ? 

“ I am  glad  to  hear  you  are  regularly  at  work  at  the 
Board.  It  will  lead  to  something  better,  doubt  not; 
and  if  it  be  dry  drudgery,  after  all,  some  of  the  greatest 
men  who  have  ever  lived  (perhaps  almost  all)  have  had 
their  dull  collar-work  of  this  kind,  which  after  all  was 
useful  in  keeping  mind  and  temper  in  order.  I have  a 
good  deal  of  it,  and  find  it  most  blessed  and  useful.” 

April  3,  1857. — “ Go  on  and  prosper.1  Let  me 
entreat  you,  in  broaching  Christianity,  to  consider 
carefully  the  one  great  Missionary  sermon  on  record, 
viz.,  St.  Paul’s  at  Athens.  There  the  Atonement,  in  its 
sense  of  a death  to  avert  God’s  anger,  is  never  men- 
tioned. Christ’s  Kingship  is  his  theme ; the  Resurrec- 
tion, not  the  death,  the  great  fact.  Oh,  begin  by 
insisting,  as  I have  done  in  the  end  of  ‘ Hypatia,’  on  the 
Incarnation  as  morally  necessary,  to  prove  the  goodness 
of  the  Supreme  Being.  Insist  on  its  being  the  Incarna- 
tion of  Him  who  had  been  in  the  world  all  along.  . . . 
Do  bear  in  mind  that  you  have  to  tell  *them  of  The 
Father — Their  Father  — of  Christ,  as  manifesting  that 
Father ; and  all  will  go  well.  On  the  question  of  future 
punishment,  I should  have  a good  deal  to  say  to  you.  I 
believe  that  it  is  the  crux  to  most  hearts.” 

May  9,  1857.  — “ About  endless  torment . . . . You 
may  say,  — 1.  Historically,  that,  a . The  doctrine  occurs 
nowhere  in  the  Old  Testament,  or  any  hint  of  it. 

1 T.  Cooper  had  written  to  say  that  he  had  now  begun  the 
“ grand  contest.”  “ God  has  been  so  good  to  me  that  I must 
confess  Christ,  and  we  shall  have  greater  rage  now  that  I have 
come  to  Christianity.” 


Thomas  Cooper  337 

The  expression,  in  the  end  of  Isaiah,  about  the  fire 
unquenched,  and  the  worm  not  dying,  is  plainly  of  the 
dead  corpses  of  men  upon  the  physical  earth,  in  the 
valley  of  Hinnom,  or  Gehenna,  where  the  offal  of  Jerusa- 
lem was  burned  perpetually.  Enlarge  on  this,  as  it  is  the 
passage  which  our  Lord  quotes,  and  by  it  the  meaning 
of  His  words  must  be  primarily  determined.  — b . The 
doctrine  of  endless  torment  was,  as  a historical  fact, 
brought  back  from  Babylon  by  the  Rabbis.  It  was  a 
very  ancient  primary  doctrine  of  the  Magi,  an  appendage 
of  their  fire-kingdom  of  Ahriman,  and  may  be  found  in 
the  old  Zends,  long  prior  to  Christianity.  — c.  St.  Paul 
accepts  nothing  of  it  as  far  as  we  can  tell,  never  making 
the  least  allusion  to  the  doctrine.  — d.  The  Apocalypse 
simply  repeats  the  imagery  of  Isaiah,  and  of  our  Lord ; 
but  asserts,  distinctly,  the  non-endlessness  of  torture, 
declaring  that  in  the  consummation,  not  only  death, 
but  Hell,  shall  be  cast  into  the  Lake  of  Fire.  — e . The 
Christian  Church  has  never  really  held  it  exclusively, 
till  now.  It  remained  quite  an  open  question  till  the 
age  of  Justinian,  530,  and  significantly  enough,  as  soon  , 
as  200  years  before  that,  endless  torment  for  the  heathen 
became  a popular  theory,  purgatory  sprang  up  synchro- 
nously by  the  side  of  it,  as  a relief  for  the  conscience 
and  reason  of  the  Church.  — f Since  the  Reformation, 
it  has  been  an  open  question  in  the  English  Church,  and 
the  philosophical  Platonists,  of  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries,  always  considered  it  as  such.  — g.  The 
Church  of  England,  by  the  deliberate  expunging  of  the 
42nd  Article  which  affirmed  endless  punishment,  has 
declared  it  authoritatively  to  be  open.  — h . It  is  so, 
in  fact.  Neither  Mr.  Maurice,  I,  or  any  others,  who 
have  denied  it,  can  be  dispossessed  or  proceeded  against 
legally  in  any  way  whatsoever.  Exegetically,  you  may 
say,  I think,  That  the  meanings  of  the  word  alwv  and 
cucmos  have  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  it,  even  if  alwv 

VOL.  I.  —22 


338  Charles  Kingsley 

be  derived  from  det  always,  which  I greatly  doubt.  The 
word  never  is  used  in  Scripture  anywhere  else,  in  the 
sense  of  endlessness  (vulgarly  called  eternity) . It 
always  meant,  both  in  Scripture  and  out,  a period  of 
time.  Else,  how  could  it  have  a plural  — how  could  you 
talk  of  the  aeons,  and  aeons  of  aeons,  as  the  Scripture 
does?  Nay,  more,  how  talk  of  oSros  6 auov,  which  the 
translators,  with  laudable  inconsistency,  have  translated 
‘ this  world/  i.  e .,  this  present  state  of  things,  ‘ Age/ 

‘ dispensation/  or  epoch  — cdomos,  therefore,  means,  and 
must  mean,  belonging  to  an  epoch,  or  the  epoch,  cuwj/ios 
KoXacrts  is  the  punishment  allotted  to  that  epoch.  Always 
bear  in  mind,  what  Maurice  insists  on,  — and  what  is  so 
plain  to  honest  readers,  — that  our  Lord  and  the  Apostles 
always  speak  of  being  in  the  end  of  an  age  or  aeon,  not 
as  ushering  in  a new  one.  Come  to  judge  and  punish 
the  old  world,  and  to  create  a new  one  out  of  its 
ruins,  or  rather  as  the  S.  S.  better  expresses  it,  to  burn  up 
the  chaff  and  keep  the  wheat,  i.  e .,  all  the  elements  of 
food  as  seed  for  the  new  world. 

“ I think  you  may  say,  that  our  Lord  took  the  popu- 
lar doctrine  because  He  found  it,  and  tried  to  correct  and 
purify  it,  and  put  it  on  areally  moral  ground.  You  may 
quote  the  parable  of  Dives  and  Lazarus  (which  was  the 
emancipation  from  the  Tartarus  theory)  as  the  one 
instance  in  which  our  Lord  professedly  opens  the 
secrets  of  the  next  world,  that  He  there  represents 
Dives  as  still  Abraham’s  child,  under  no  despair,  not  cut 
off  from  Abraham’s  sympathy,  and  under  a direct 
moral  training,  of  which  you  see  the  fruit.  He  is 
gradually  weaned  from  the  selfish  desire  of  indulgence 
for  himself,  to  love  and  care  for  his  brethren,  a divine 
step  forward  in  his  life,  which  of  itself  proves  him  not 
to  be  lost.  The  impossibility  of  Lazarus  getting  to  him, 
or  vice  versa , expresses  plainly  the  great  truth,  that  each 
being  where  he  ought  to  be  at  that  time,  interchange  of 


Thomas  Cooper  339 

place  (/.  e .,  of  spiritual  state)  is  impossible.  But  it  says 
nothing  against  Dives  rising  out  of  his  torment,  when  he 
has  learnt  the  lesson  of  it,  and  going  where  he  ought  to 
go.  The  common  interpretation  is  merely  arguing  in 
a circle,  assuming  that  there  are  but  two  states  of  the 
dead,  ‘ Heaven  ’ and  * Hell/  and  then  trying  at  once  to 
interpret  the  parable  by  the  assumption,  and  to  prove 
the  assumption  from  the  parable.  Next,  you  may  say 
that  the  English  ‘ damnation/  like  the  Greek  Kara/cpio-is, 
is  perhaps  /cpio-is  simple,  simply  means  condemnation, 
and  is  (thank  God)  retained  in  that  sense  in  various  of 
our  formularies,  where  I always  read  it,  e.  g.,  ‘ eateth  to 
himself  damnation/  with  sincere  pleasure,  as  protests 
in  favor  of  the  true  and  rational  meaning  of  the  word, 
against  the  modern  and  narrower  meaning. 

“ You  may  say  that  Fire  and  Worms,  whether  physi- 
cal or  spiritual,  must  in  all  logical  fairness  be  supposed  to 
do  what  fire  and  worms  do  do,  viz.,  destroy  decayed  and 
dead  matter,  and  set  free  its  elements  to  enter  into  new 
organisms ; that,  as  they  are  beneficent  and  purifying 
agents  in  this  life,  they  must  be  supposed  such  in  the 
future  life,  and  that  the  conception  of  fire  as  an  engine 
of  torture,  is  an  unnatural  use  of  that  agent,  and  not  to 
be  attributed  to  God  without  blasphemy,  unless  you 
suppose  that  the  suffering  (like  all  which  He  inflicts)  is 
intended  to  teach  man  something  which  he  cannot  learn 
elsewhere. 

“ You  may  say  that  the  catch,  ‘ All  sin  deserves  infi- 
nite punishment,  because  it  is  against  an  Infinite  Being/ 
is  a worthless  amphiboly,  using  the  word  infinite  in  two 
utterly  different  senses,  and  being  a mere  play  on  sound. 
That  it  is  directly  contradicted  by  Scripture,  especially 
by  our  Lord’s  own  words,  which  declare  that  every  man 
(not  merely  the  wicked)  shall  receive  the  due  reward  of 
his  deeds,  that  he  who,  &c.,  shall  be  beaten  with  few 
stripes,  and  so  forth.  That  the  words  ‘ He  shall  not  go 


34°  Charles  Kingsley 

out  till  he  has  paid  the  uttermost  farthing/  evidently 
imply  (unless  spoken  in  cruel  mockery)  that  he  may  go 
out  then.  . . . 

“ Finally,  you  may  call  on  them  to  rejoice  that  there 
is  a fire  of  God  the  Father  whose  name  is  Love,  burning 
for  ever  unquenchably,  to  destroy  out  of  every  man’s 
heart  and  out  of  the  hearts  of  all  nations,  and  off  the 
physical  and  moral  world,  all  which  offends  and  makes 
a lie.  That  into  that  fire  the  Lord  will  surely  cast  all 
shams,  lies,  hypocrisies,  tyrannies,  pedantries,  false  doc- 
trines, yea,  and  the  men  who  love  them  too  well  to  give 
them  up,  that  the  smoke  of  their  Bacrcmoyxo?  (/.  e .,  the 
torture  which  makes  men  confess  the  truth,  for  that  is 
the  real  meaning  of  it;  Ba^aiw/xos  means  the  touch - 
stone  by  which  gold  was  tested)  may  ascend  perpetu- 
ally, for  a warning  and  a beacon  to  all  nations,  as  the 
smoke  of  the  torment  of  French  aristocracies,  and  Bour- 
bon dynasties,  is  ascending  up  to  Heaven  and  has  been 
ever  since  1793.  Oh,  Cooper  — Is  it  not  good  news 
that  that  fire  is  unquenchable ; that  that  worm  will  not 
die.  . . . The  parti pretre  tried  to  kill  the  worm  which 
was  gnawing  at  their  hearts,  making  them  dimly  aware 
that  they  were  wrong,  and  liars,  and  that  God  and  His 
universe  were  against  them,  and  that  they  and  their 
system  were  rotting  and  must  die.  They  cannot  kill 
God’s  worm,  Thomas  Cooper.  You  cannot  look  in  the 
face  of  many  a working  continental  priest  without  seeing 
that  the  worm  is  at  his  heart.  You  cannot  watch  their 
conduct  without  seeing  that  it  is  at  the  heart  of  their 
system.  God  grant  that  we  here  in  England  — we 
parsons  (dissenting  and  church)  may  take  warning  by 
them.  The  fire  may  be  kindled  for  us.  The  worm 
may  seize  our  hearts.  God  grant  that  in  that  day  we 
may  have  courage  to  let  the  fire  and  the  worm  do  their 
work — to  say  to  Christ,  These  too  are  Thine,  and  out 
of  Thine  infinite  love  they  have  come.  Thou  requirest 


Thomas  Cooper  341 

truth  in  the  inward  parts,  and  I will  thank  Thee  for 
any  means,  however  bitter,  which  Thou  usest  to  make 
me  true.  I want  to  be  an  honest  man,  and  a right 
man  ! And,  oh  joy,  Thou  wantest  me  to  be  so  also. 
Oh  joy,  that  though  I long  cowardly  to  quench  Thy  fire, 
I cannot  do  it.  Purge  us,  therefore,  O Lord,  though 
it  be  with  fire.  Burn  up  the  chaff  of  vanity  and  self- 
indulgence,  of  hasty  prejudices,  second-hand  dogmas,  — 
husks  which  do  not  feed  my  soul,  with  which  I cannot 
be  content,  of  which  I feel  ashamed  daily  — and  if 
there  be  any  grains  of  wheat  in  me,  any  word  or  thought 
or  power  of  action  which  may  be  of  use  as  seed  for  my 
nation  after  me,  gather  it,  O Lord,  into  Thy  garner. 

“ Yes,  Thomas  Cooper.  Because  I believe  in  a God 
of  Absolute  and  Unbounded  Love,  therefore  I believe  in 
a Loving  Anger  of  His,  which  will  and  must  devour  and 
destroy  all  which  is  decayed,  monstrous,  abortive  in  His 
universe,  till  all  enemies  shall  be  put  under  His  feet,  to 
be  pardoned  surely,  if  they  confess  themselves  in  the 
wrong,  and  open  their  eyes  to  the  truth.  And  God 
shall  be  All  in  All.  Those  last  are  wide  words.  It  is 
he  who  limits  them,  not  I who  accept  them  in  their 
fulness,  who  denies  the  verbal  inspiration  of  Scripture. 

“ P.  S.  When  you  talk  to  them  on  the  Trinity,  don’t 
be  afraid  of  saying  two  things. 

“ They  will  say  ‘ Three  in  One  ’ is  contrary  to  sense 
and  experience.  Answer,  that  is  your  ignorance.  Every 
comparative  anatomist  will  tell  you  the  exact  contrary ; 
that  among  the  most  common,  though  the  most  puzzling 
phenomena  is  multiplicity  in  unity  — divided  life  in  the 
same  individual  of  every  extraordinary  variety  of  case. 
That  distinction  of  persons  with  unity  of  individuality 
(what  the  old  schoolmen  properly  called  substance ) is  to 
be  met  with  in  some  thousand  species  of  animals,  e . g., 
all  the  compound  polypes,  and  that  the  soundest  physi- 
ologists, like  Huxley,  are  compelled  to  talk  of  these 


342  Charles  Kingsley 

animals  in  metaphysic  terms  just  as  paradoxical  as,  and 
almost  identical  with,  those  of  the  theologian.  Ask 
them  then,  whether,  granting  one  primordial  Being  who 
has  conceived  and  made  all  other  beings,  it  is  absurd  to 
suppose  in  Him  some  law  of  multiplicity  in  unity,  anal- 
ogous to  that  on  which  He  has  constructed  so  many 
millions  of  His  creatures.  . . . 

“ I have  said  my  say  on  the  Trinity  in  the  end  of 
‘ Yeast/  and  in  the  end  of  ‘ Hypatia.7  . . .” 

“ But  my  heart  demands  the  Trinity,  as  much  as  my 
reason.  I want  to  be  sure  that  God  cares  for  us,  that 
God  is  our  Father,  that  God  has  interfered,  stooped, 
sacrificed  Himself  for  us.  I do  not  merely  want  to  love 
Christ  — a Christ,  some  creation  or  emanation  of  God’s 
— whose  will  and  character,  for  aught  I know,  may  be 
different  from  God’s.  I want  to  love  and  honor  the 
absolute,  abysmal  God  Himself,  and  none  other  will 
satisfy  me  — and  in  the  doctrine  of  Christ  being  co- 
equal and  co-eternal,  sent  by,  sacrificed  by,  His  Father, 
that  He  might  do  His  Father’s  will,  I find  it  — and  no 
puzzling  texts,  like  those  you  quote,  shall  rob  me  of  that 
rest  for  my  heart,  that  Christ  is  the  exact  counterpart  of 
Him  in  whom  we  live,  and  move,  and  have  our.  being. 
The  texts  are  few,  only  two  after  all ; on  them  I wait 
for  light,  as  I do  on  many  more  : meanwhile,  I say 
boldly,  if  the  doctrine  be  not  in  the  Bible,  it  ought  to 
be,  for  the  whole  spiritual  nature  of  man  cries  out  for 
it.  Have  you  read  Maurice’s  essay  on  the  Trinity  in 
his  theological  essays  ? addressed  to  Unitarians  ? If  not, 
you  must  read  it.  About  the  word  Trinity,  I feel  much 
as  you  do.  It  seems  unfortunate  that  the  name  of 
God  should  be  one  which  expresses  a mere  numerical 
abstraction,  and  not  a moral  property.  It  has,  I think, 
helped  to  make  men  forget  that  God  is  a spirit  — 
that  is,  a moral  being,  and  that  moral  spiritual,  and  that 


Thomas  Cooper  343 

morality  (in  the  absolute)  is  God,  as  St.  John  saith  God 
is  love,  and  he  that  dwelleth  in  love  dwelleth  in  God, 
and  God  in  him  — words  which,  were  they  not  happily 
in  the  Bible,  would  be  now  called  rank  and  rampant 
Pantheism.  But,  Cooper,  I have  that  faith  in  Christ’s 
right  government  of  the  human  race,  that  I have  good 
hope  that  He  is  keeping  the  word  Trinity,  only  because 
it  has  not  yet  done  its  work ; when  it  has,  He  will 
inspire  men  with  some  better  one.” 


/ 


CHAPTER  XII 


1854 


Aged  35 


Torquay  — Seaside  Studies  — Sanitary  Work  — Lectures 
in  Edinburgh  — Deutsche  Theologie  — About  Sister- 
hoods— Crimean  War  — Settles  in  North  Devon  — 
Writes  “ Westward  Ho  ! ” 


“ Beyond  the  shadow  of  the  ship, 

I watched  the  water  snakes  ; 

They  moved  in  tracks  of  shining  white, 
And  when  they  rear’d  the  elfish  light 
Fell  off  in  hoary  flakes. 

Oh  happy  living  things  ! no  tongue 
Their  beauty  might  declare  : 

A spring  of  love  gushed  from  my  heart, 
And  I bless’d  them  unaware.’’ 


“ Happy  truly  is  the  naturalist.  He  has  no  time  for  melancholy 
dreams.  The  earth  becomes  to  him  transparent;  everywhere  he 
sees  significance,  harmonies,  laws,  chains  of  cause  and  effect  end- 
lessly interlinked,  which  draw  him  out  of  the  narrow  sphere  of 
self  . . . into  a pure  and  wholesome  region  of  joy  and  wonder.” 


HE  winter  and  spring  of  1854  were  passed 


at  Torquay,  his  Bishop  having  given  him 
leave  of  absence  on  account  of  his  wife’s  health. 
The  place  had  its  own  peculiar  charm  for  him, 
not  only  from  its  rich  fauna  and  flora,  but  from 
its  historical  associations.  Torbay  gave  him  his 
first  inspiration  for  “ Westward  Ho  ! ” 


Coleridge’s  “ Ancient  Mariner.” 


C.  K. 


Torquay  345 

“ We  cannot  gaze  on  its  blue  ring  of  water/*  he  said, 
“ and  the  great  limestone  bluffs  which  bound  it  to  the 
north  and  south  without  a glow  passing  through  our 
hearts,  as  we  remember  the  terrible  and  glorious  pageant 
which  passed  by  it  in  the  bright  days  of  July,  1588, 
when  the  Spanish  Armada  ventured  slowly  past  Berry 
Head,  with  Elizabeth’s  gallant  pack  of  Devon  captains 
(for  the  London  fleet  had  not  yet  joined),  following  fast 
in  its  wake,  and  dashing  into  the  midst  of  the  vast  line, 
undismayed  by  size  and  numbers,  while  their  kin  and 
friends  stood  watching  and  praying  on  the  cliffs,  specta- 
tors of  Britain’s  Salamis.  The  white  line  of  houses,  too, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  bay,  is  Brixham,  famed  as  the 
landing-place  of  William  of  Orange ; and  the  stone  on 
the  pier-head,  which  marks  his  first  footprints  on  British 
ground,  is  sacred  in  the  eyes  of  all  true  English  Whigs ; 
and  close  by  stands  the  castle  of  the  settler  of  New- 
foundland, Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert,  Raleigh’s  half-brother, 
most  learned  of  all  Elizabeth’s  admirals  in  life,  most 
pious  and  heroic  in  death.  . . . ” 

This  was  the  first  rest  he  had  enjoyed  for  many 
years,  and  the  temporary  cessation  from  sermon 
writing  and  parish  work,  and  the  quiet  peaceful 
Sundays  with  his  wife  and  children  were  most 
welcome.  For  at  this  time,  and  for  some  years  to 
come,  the  clergy  of  all  parties  in  the  Church  stood 
aloof  from  him  as  a suspected  person;  and  the 
attacks  of  the  religious  press,  perhaps  happily  for 
him,  had  so  alarmed  the  clergy  of  Torquay,  High 
Church  and  Evangelical,  that  all  pulpit  doors 
were  closed  against  the  author  of  “Alton  Locke,” 
“Yeast,”  and  “Hypatia.”  Once  only  he  was 
asked  to  preach  in  the  parish  church  for  a charity, 
and  once  at  St.  John’s,  in  a Lenten  week-day 
service,  when  he  surprised  the  congregation,  a 


346  Charles  Kingsley 

High  Church  one,  by  his  reverent  and  orthodox 
views  on  the  Holy  Eucharist.  Settled  at  Liver- 
mead,  the  father  and  children  spent  bright  hours 
together  daily  on  the  shore,  of  which  he  speaks: 

“ Wanderings  among  rock  and  pool,  mixed  up  with 
holiest  passages  of  friendship  and  of  love,  and  the  inter- 
communion of  equal  minds  and  sympathetic  hearts, 
and  of  the  laugh  of  children  drinking  in  health  from 
every  breeze  and  instruction  in  every  step,  running 
ever  and  anon  with  proud  delight  to  add  their  little 
treasure  to  their  fathers  stock ; and  of  happy  evenings 
spent  over  the  microscope  and  the  vase,  in  examining, 
arranging,  preserving,  and  noting  down  in  the  diary  the 
wonders  and  the  labors  of  the  happy  busy  day.” 

This  seaside  life  led  to  a voluminous  corre- 
spondence, each  letter  illustrated  by  his  own 
beautiful  sketches,  and  to  an  article  in  the 
“ North  British  Review,”  on  “The  Wonders  of 
the  Shore,”  which  was  afterwards  developed  into 
“Glaucus,”  and  contained  not  only  studies  in 
natural  history,  but  some  of  his  deepest  thoughts 
on  theology  as  connected  with  the  transmutation 
theory,  and  the  lately  published  “Vestiges  of 
Creation.”  A daily  journal  of  natural  history 
was  kept,  and  hampers  of  sea  beasts,  live  shells, 
and  growing  seaweed  sent  off  to  Mr.  Gosse,  in 
London.  After  each  low  tide,  some  fresh  treas- 
ure was  discovered,  and  drawings  and  a minute 
description  made.  In  a cave,  near  Goodrington, 
he  found  washed  ashore,  after  a succession  of 
southeasterly  gales,  a rare  zoophyte,  Montagu’s 
Chirodata  ( Synapta  digitata ),  which  had  not  been 
seen  for  years;  Cardium  Tuberculatum,  the  red- 
legged  cockle,  a shell  quite  new  to  him,  lay  on  the 


Seaside  Studies  347 

sands  in  countless  numbers.  In  the  well-stocked 
vivarium  at  home  he  could  study  the  ways  of  the 
lovely  little  Eolis  papillosa,  the  bright  lemon- 
colored  Doris,  the  Cucumaria  Hyndmanii,  with 
their  wondrous  gills  and  feathers  — to  common 
eyes  mere  sea-slugs,  — and  varieties  of  Serpulae, 
with  their  fairy  fringes  only  visible  at  happy 
moments  to  those  who  have  the  patience  to  watch 
and  wait  for  the  sight ; while  the  more  minute 
forms  of  the  exquisite  Campanularia  Syringa  and 
Volubilis,  the  various  Sertularii,  and  that  “pale 
pink  flower  of  stone,”  the  Carophyllia  Smithii, 
with  numberless  others,  were  examined  under  the 
microscope.  The  manners  and  customs  too  of 
the  soldier  crab  were  not  only  a source  of  inex- 
haustible merriment,  but  led  him  to  some  of  the 
deep  strange  speculations  so  reverently  hinted  at 
in  the  pages  of  “Glaucus;”  while  the  habits  of 
the  spider  crab  suggested  lessons  of  sanitary 
science.  At  Torquay,  he  fulfilled  before  his 
children’s  eyes  his  own  ideal  of  the 

“ . . . perfect  naturalist,  — one  who  should  combine  in 
himself  the  very  essence  of  true  chivalry,  namely,  self- 
devotion,  whose  moral  character,  like  the  true  knight  of 
old,  must  be  gentle  and  courteous,  brave  and  enterpris- 
ing and  withal  patient  and  undaunted  in  investigation, 
knowing  (as  Lord  Bacon  would  have  put  it),  that  the 
kingdom  of  nature,  like  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  must 
be  taken  by  violence,  and  that  only  to  those  who  knock 
earnestly  and  long,  does  the  Great  Mother  open  the 
doors  of  her  sanctuary,  . . . always  reverent,  yet  never 
superstitious,  wondering  at  the  commonest,  yet  not  sur- 
prised by  the  most  strange ; free  from  the  idols  of  size 
and  sensuous  loveliness,  . . . holding  every  phenome- 
non worth  the  noting  down ; believing  that  every  pebble 


348  Charles  Kingsley 

holds  a treasure,  every  bud  a revelation ; making  it  a 
point  of  conscience  to  pass  over  nothing  through  laziness 
or  hastiness,  lest  the  vision  once  offered  and  despised 
should  be  withdrawn,  and  looking  at  every  object  as  if 
he  were  never  to  behold  it  more.  . . . ” 

Before  leaving  Torquay  he  made  a rough  list  of 
about  sixty  species  of  Mollusks,  Annelids,  Crus- 
tacea, and  Polypes  found  on  the  shore,  nearly  all 
new  to  him,  and  revealing  a new  world  of  won- 
ders to  his  wife  and  children.  The  attitude  of 
his  mind  during  those  rare  hours  of  rest  and  lib- 
erty at  Torquay,  is  well  described  by  Dean 
Stanley : 

“ Such  was  the  wakefulness,  such  the  devouring  curi- 
osity, of  him  whose  life  and  conversation,  as  he  walked 
amongst  ordinary  men,  was  often  as  of  a waker  among 
drowsy  sleepers,  as  a watchful  sentinel  in  advance  of  the 
slumbering  host.  . . . Perhaps  even  more  than  to  the 
glories  and  the  wonders  of  man,  he  was  far  beyond  what 
falls  to  the  lot  of  most,  alive  and  awake  in  every  pore  to 
the  beauty,  the  marvels  of  nature.  That  contrast  in  the 
old  story  of  ‘ eyes  and  no  eyes/  was  the  contrast  be- 
tween him  and  common  men.  That  eagle  eye  seemed 
to  discern  every  shade  and  form  of  animal  and  vegetable 
life.  That  listening  ear,  like  that  of  the  hero  in  the 
fairy  tale,  seemed  almost  to  catch  the  growing  of  the 
grass  and  the  opening  of  the  shell.  Nature  to  him  was 
a companion  speaking  with  a thousand  voices.  And 
Nature  was  to  him  also  the  voice  of  God,  the  face  of 
the  Eternal  and  Invisible,  as  it  can  only  be  to  those 
who  study  and  love  and  know  it.  For  his  was  no  idle 
dreamer’s  pleasure ; it  was  a wakefulness  not  only  to 
the  force  and  beauty  of  the  outward  world,  but  to  the 
causes  of  its  mysterious  operations,  to  the  explanations 


Sanitary  Matters  349 

given  by  its  patient  students  and  explorers.”  (Funeral 
Sermon,  1875.) 

But  these  pursuits,  however  enchanting,  did 
not  engross  him  to  the  forgetfulness  of  the  great 
social  questions  of  the  day.  Early  in  the  year 
we  find  him  busy  about  sanitary  matters,  and,  in 
a preface  to  his  Three  Cholera  Sermons,  which 
he  now  republished  as  a tract,  entitled,  “Who 
Causes  Pestilence?”  urging  the  clergy  to  turn 
their  minds  to  the  subject. 

“ These  sermons,”  he  says,  “ were  preached  during 
the  last  appearance  of  the  cholera  in  Great  Britain. 
Since  then,  both  Scripture,  reason,  and  medical  experi- 
ence have  corroborated  the  views  which  were  put  forth 
in  them ; and  as  a clergyman,  I feel  bound  to  express 
my  gratitude  to  Lord  Palmerston  for  having  refused  to 
allow  a National  Fast-day  on  the  occasion  of  the  present 
re-appearance  of  pestilence,  and  so  having  prevented 
fresh  scandal  to  Christianity,  fresh  excuses  for  the  sel- 
fishness, laziness,  and  ignorance  which  produce  pesti- 
lence, fresh  turning  men’s  minds  away  from  the  real 
causes  of  this  present  judgment,  to  fanciful  and  super- 
stitious ones.  It  was  to  be  hoped,  that  after  the  late 
discoveries  of  sanitary  science,  the  clergy  of  all  denom- 
inations would  have  felt  it  a sacred  duty  to  go  forth  on 
a crusade  against  filth,  and  so  to  save  the  lives  of 
thousands,  not  merely  during  the  presence  of  cholera, 
but  every  year.  . . . 

“ Some  fancy  that  the  business  of  clergymen  is  exclu- 
sively what  they  choose  to  call  ‘ spiritual,’  and  that 
sanitary  reform,  being  what  they  choose  to  call  a ‘ secu- 
lar ’ question,  is  beyond  their  province.  This  unscrip- 
tural  distinction  still  lingers  in  the  minds  of  a few,  both 
lay  and  clerical,  especially  of  those  who  attach  a super- 
stitious importance  to  the  mere  act  of  almsgiving  as 


350  Charles  Kingsley 

something  which  will  increase  their  chance  of  future 
happiness,  while  they  seem,  in  many  cases,  to  make  that 
duty  an  excuse  for  leaving  their  tenants  and  parishioners 
to  live  the  life  of  swine ; ‘ paying  tithe  of  mint,  anise, 
and  cummin,  and  neglecting  the  weightier  matters  of 
the  law,  justice,  mercy,  and  truth.’  . . . But  I can 
say,  proudly  and  joyfully,  as  a clergyman  of  the  Church 
of  England,  that  this  notion  is  dying  out  daily  under  the 
influence  of  those  creeds  which  tell  men^that  the  Son  of 
God  has  redeemed  all  mankind,  body,  soul,  and  spirit, 
and  therefore  teaches  clergymen  to  look  on  the  physical 
and  intellectual  improvement  of  every  human  being  as 
a duty  no  less  sacred  than  his  spiritual  welfare.  . . . 
Some,  again,  dislike  the  notion  of  its  being  possible  to 
abolish  pestilence  by  sanitary  reform,  because  it  seems 
to  interfere  with  their  own  religious  theories  and  doc- 
trines. . . . But  that  man  is  to  be  pitied  who  can  shut 
his  eyes  to  facts,  and  deny  the  evidence  of  his  own 
senses  and  reason,  for  the  sake  of  preserving  his  own 
dark  and  superstitious  calumnies  against  the  God  of 
order,  justice,  and  love. 

“ Some  again  — and  perhaps  the  larger  class  — do  in 
their  hearts  believe  the  truths  of  sanitary  science ; but 
they  are  afraid,  especially  if  they  get  their  subsistence 
on  ‘ the  voluntary  principle,’  of  urging  them  too  plainly 
and  boldly,  lest  they  should  attack  the  vested  interests, 
and  thereby  excite  the  displeasure  of  wealthy  and  in- 
fluential members  of  their  congregations  , . . and  put 
aside  sanitary  reform,  lest  it  should  compel  them  to  say 
something  which  might  be  ‘ personal  ’ and  ‘ offensive  ’ 
to  those  of  their  respectable  hearers  whose  incomes  are 
derived  from  the  filth,  disease,  and  brutality  of  the 
lower  classes.  Let  all  these  three  classes  of  ministers, 
of  whatever  denomination  they  may  be  — let  them  but 
read  a little,  a very  little,  on  the  subject  . . . and  see 
the  actual  practical  results  which  have  been  obtained  by 


Sanitary  Matters  351 

sanitary  reform,  and  the  providing  of  fit  dwellings  for 
the  lower  classes,  not  merely  in  extirpating  disease,  but 
in  extirpating  drunkenness,  ferocity,  and  those  coarser 
vices  of  which  too  many  preachers  speak  as  if  they  were 
the  only  sins  worth  rebuking.  Let  them  consider  the 
enormous  power  which  they  can  still  employ  — each 
man  in  his  pulpit,  his  congregation,  his  parish — to  de- 
liver those  from  death  whom  the  covetousness  and  neg- 
lect of  man  have  appointed  to  die ; and  then  let  them 
solemnly  ask  themselves  whether,  unless  they  bestir 
themselves  very  differently  from  what  they  yet  have 
done,  their  brother’s  blood  will  not  cry  against  them 
from  the  ground.  ...  As  surely  as  there  is  a merciful 
God  who  answers  prayer,  He  has  answered  the  prayers 
of  those  two  first  Cholera  Fasts  in  the  best  way  in  which 
rational  beings  could  wish  a Heavenly  Father  to  answer 
prayer,  namely,  by  showing  us  how  to  extirpate  the  evil 
against  which  we  prayed.  And  if  the  Bible  be  true, 
then  as  long  as  ministers  are  careless  about  doing  that, 
the  only  answer  they  can  expect  to  fasts  or  prayers  is 
that  ancient  one,  — ‘ When  ye  come  to  appear  before 
Me,  who  hath  required  this  at  your  hands,  to  tread  My 
courts?  Bring  no  more  vain  offerings;  your  . . . 
Sabbaths  and  your  calling  of  assemblies  I cannot  away 
with ; it  is  iniquity,  even  your  solemn  meeting.  Your 
appointed  feasts  My  soul  hateth ; they  are  a trouble  to 
me  ; I am  weary  to  bear  them.  And  when  you  spread 
forth  your  hands,  I will  hide  Mine  eyes  from  you ; yea, 
when  you  make  many  prayers,  I will  not  hear : your 
hands  are  full  of  blood.  Wash  you,  make  you  clean  ; 
put  away  the  evil  of  your  doings  from  before  My  eyes ; 
cease  to  do  evil ; learn  to  do  well ; seek  justice,  relieve 
the  oppressed,  judge  the  fatherless,  plead  for  the 
widow.’  ” 

In  February  he  went  to  Edinburgh  to  deliver 
four  lectures  on  the  “ Schools  of  Alexandria/’  at 


35 2 Charles  Kingsley 

the  Philosophical  Institute.  It  was  his  first  visit 
to  Scotland,  where  he  was  warmly  welcomed.  On 
his  return  he  remained  alone  at  Eversley  during 
a change  of  curates,  working  the  parish,  getting 
up  an  anti-cholera  fund,  writing  a sanitary  pam- 
phlet, and  preparing  statistics  for  a sanitary  de- 
putation, of  which  he  was  a member,  to  Lord 
Palmerston. 

In  the  spring  he  went  up  again  to  London  to 
give  evidence  before  the  House  of  Commons  on 
sanitary  matters,  and  on  the  insufficient  pay 
of  parish  medical  officers.  The  experience  of 
eleven  years  had  convinced  him  that  the  pay  of 
the  parish  doctor  was  insufficient;  and  he  was 
glad  to  give  evidence  on  the  subject,  and  to  point 
out  the  fact  that  under  the  present  salaries  no 
medical  man  could  afford,  or  be  expected,  to  give 
two  of  the  most  important  but  most  expensive 
medicines  — quinine  and  cod-liver  oil  — to  their 
poor  patients.  The  following  are  extracts  from 
his  daily  letters  to  his  wife: 

Edinburgh  : February . — “ . . . Edinburgh  itself  de- 
serves all  the  praises  which  have  been  lavished  upon  it. 
The  esplanade  where  I sit  now  is  certainly  the  finest  in 
Great  Britain.  The  public  buildings  very  splendid,  and 
so  are  the  spires  and  churches,  all  of  gray  stone.  The 
Castle  in  the  center  of  the  city,  and  Arthur’s  Seat,  with 
its  basalt  crags,  800  feet  high,  ready  to  topple  into  the 
town.  This  afternoon  I walked  with  F.  Russell  to  the 
Corstorphine  Hills,  and  got  a noble  view  of  the  city, 
which  there  looked  very  like  Oxford,  with  a huge 
Windsor  Castle  in  the  middle  of  it,  and  the  Firth  of 
Forth,  with  its  islands  and  the  Fifeshire  Hills.  Most 
beautiful,  God  knows,  it  was.  The  people  very  kindly. 
Russell  put  me  in  rather  better  heart  about  my  lectures, 


Lectures  in  Edinburgh  353 

over  which  I have  felt  more  nervous  than  I have  ever 
done  in  my  life,  and  would  give  anything  to  run  right 
away  home.  . . . ” 

“ . . . Lecture  went  off  well.  I was  dreadfully  ner- 
vous, and  actually  cried  with  fear  up  in  my  own  room 
beforehand  ; but  after  praying  I recovered  myself,  and 
got  through  it  very  well,  being  much  cheered  and 
clapped.  ...  All  the  notabilities  came,  and  were  intro- 
duced to  me ; and  I had  some  pleasant  talk  with  Sir 
John  Maxwell.  Mr.  Erskine,  of  Linlathen,  is  a charm- 
ing old  man.  ...” 

“ . . . My  second  lecture  went  off  better  than  the 
first,  in  spite  of  the  delicate  points  on  which  it  touched. 
Nothing  can  exceed  the  cordiality  of  people.  ...  I 
drove  with  Mrs.  B.  round  the  Queen’s  drive  to  Arthur’s 
Seat.  It  is  perfectly  magnificent  — a great  wild  volcano 
peak  hanging  over  the  city,  with  Holyrood  at  the  foot. 
Just  starting  for  Linlathen.  ...” 

Linlathen:  Feb . 20.  — “This  place  is  very  pleasant, 
and  Mr.  Erkskine  delightful.  He  gave  us  a long  exposi- 
tion last  night,  about  the  indwelling  Word,  and  I am 
delighted  to  find  that  his  views  and  mine  seem  to  agree 
thoroughly ; but  I long  so  painfully  for  you  and  the  chil- 
dren too,  that  I have  no  pleasure  or  peace  in  anything, 
and  am  counting  the  days  till  I get  back.  Tell  Rose 
and  Maurice  I have  got  a strange  sponge  for  each  of 
them,  which  I picked  up  upon  the  shore  of  the  Firth 
of  Tay.” 

Warriston  : Feb.  22.  — “ Lecture  last  night  went  off 
well.  Smith,  the  translator  of  ‘ Fichte,’  came  up  to  me 
and  begged  me  to  publish  them.  People  seem  surprised 
at  my  power  of  condensing.  To  me  they  seem  dread- 
fully trashy.  God  knows.  Erskine  and  others  think  they 
will  do  much  good,  but  will  infuriate  the  Free  Kirk.” 

February  26.  — “It  is  at  last  over,  and  I start  for 
England  to-morrow.  The  last  lecture  was  more  crowded 

. VOL.  I.  — 23 


354  Charles  Kingsley 

than  ever.  . . . Altogether  it  has  been  (if  you  had  but 
been  with  me,  and  alas  ! that  poisons  everything)  one 
of  the  most  pleasant  and  successful  episodes  in  my  life. 
I have  been  heaped  with  kindness.  I have  got  my  say 
said  without  giving  offence,  and  made  friendships  which 
I hope  will  last  for  life.  I cannot  be  thankful  enough 
to  God  for  having  sent  me  here,  and  carried  me  through. 
Sir  John  Maxwell,  a perfect  fine  gentleman  of  the  old 
school,  who  was  twenty- five  years  in  Parliament,  approves 
highly  of  ‘ Alton  Locke  ’ and  ‘ Yeast’;  as  also  does  his 
wife,  Lady  Matilda,  who  told  me  I had  a glorious  career 
before  me,  and  bade  God  speed  me  in  it.  . . . ” 

February  27.  — “ The  Guards  march  to-morrow! 
How  it  makes  one’s  blood  boil ! We  send  10,000 
picked  men  to  Malta,  en  route  for  Constantinople,  and 
the  French  60,000.  ...” 

Eversley.  — “ The  working  men  in  London,  includ- 
ing many  of  the  old  Chartists  of  1848,  are  going  to  pre- 
sent a grand  address  to  Maurice  in  St.  Martin’s  Hall,  at 
which,  I believe,  I am  to  be  a chairman.  Kiss  the  babes 
for  me,  and  tell  them  I long  to  be  with  them  on  Tor 
sands.  ...” 

“ Did  I ever  tell  you  of  my  delightful  chat  with  Bunsen  ? 
I have  promised  him  to  write  a couple  of  pages  preface 
to  Miss  Winkworth’s  translation  of  the  ‘ Deutsche  Theo- 
logia.’  Oh  ! how  you  will  revel  in  that  book  ! . . . ” 

“ . . . I have  a very  heavy  evening’s  work  before 
going  to  Lord  Palmerston.  Helps  is  coming  out  as  a 
hero.  What  a thought  that  we  may  by  one  great  and 
wise  effort  save  from  ten  to  twenty  thousand  lives  in 
London  alone  ! . . . I am  quite  content  to  stay  here 
and  do  my  duty  (till  the  curate  comes),  though  I long 
more  than  ever  I did  in  my  life  for  you  and  for  those 
dear  dear  children.  . . . To-day  has  been  lovely  — 
bright  sun  — crocuses  in  full  bloom.  The  dear  old 
treacherous  place  looking  as  if  it  were  really  healthy. 


Lectures  in  Edinburgh  3 55 

Nothing  sanitary  done  in  the  parish.  ...  I work  on 
and  on  . . . but  am  very  sad.  How  can  I help  being 
sad  in  this  place  ? It  is  like  a grave,  empty  of  you  and 
the  children.  ‘ Deutsche  Theologia  ’ is  doing  me  much 
good.  Curious  it  is,  that  that , much  as  I differ  from  its 
view  of  man,  is  the  only  kind  of  religious  reading  which 
I love,  or  which  has  even  any  real  meaning  for  my  heart. 
. . . God  knows  best  whether  or  not  I ought  to  be  here 
just  now.  Still  I can’t  help  beating  against  the  wires  a 
little.  ...” 

“ I had  an  opportunity  of  telling  Lord  Palmerston  a 
great  deal  which  I trust  may  save  many  lives.  Remem- 
ber, it  is  now  a question  of  blood-guiltiness  — that  is  all. 
But  I am  not  going  to  London  any  more  about  sanitary 
matters.  The  utter  inability  of  the  Health  of  Towns 
Act  to  cleanse  this  or  any  other  neighboring  parish, 
made  me  consider  what  I have  done  as  a parochial 
duty.  ...” 

“ . . . The  Reform  Bill  is  shelved  : excellent  as  it  is, 
it  does  not  much  matter  at  this  minute.  Two  days  after 
our  deputation,  that  bane  of  London,  the  Sewers  Com- 
mission, awoke  in  the  morning,  and  behold  they  were  all 
dead  men  ! Lord  Palmerston  having  abolished  them 
by  one  sentence  the  night  before,  and  I have  not  heard 
that  anyone  has  gone  into  mourning.  The  Board  of 
Health  are  now  triumphant  and  omnipotent.  God 
grant  that  they  may  use  their  victory  well,  and  not  spoil 
it  by  pedantry  and  idealism  ! Baines  brings  in  three 
clauses,  which  will  re-form  the  whole  poor-law,  and  strike 
at  the  root  of  cottage  destruction.  God  knows  it  is  base 
of  one  to  sit  here  fretting  about  little  private  evils,  while 
the  country  is  doing  so  well  and  the  ministers  so  nobly. 
The  ‘ Times  * has  taken  up  the  cause  of  soldiers’  wives 
and  families ; and  a great  cause  it  is.  I feel  that  after 
all  England’s  heart  is  sound  : and  if  it  be,  what  matter 
whether  I am  at  Eversley  or  Torquay?  And  yet  I long 


356  Charles  Kingsley 

to  be  there.  ...  I have  got  Hawley’s  secretary  dining 
here  with  a lot  of  blue-books,  he  and  I being  about  a 
joint  pamphlet,  ‘The  Cholera  versus  the  Present  Slavery 
of  Union  Medical  Officers.’  ” 

While  at  Torquay  he  wrote  at  Baron  Bunsen's 
request  an  invaluable  preface  to  the  translation 
of  the  “ Deutsche  Theologia,”  in  which  he  plainly 
states  where  he  does  and  does  not  agree  with  its 
theology,  and  says  that,  in  order  to  see  its  clear 
meaning,  the  reader 

“ . . . must  forget  all  popular  modern  dogmas  and 
systems,  all  popular  philosophies,  and  be  true  to  the 
letter  of  his  Bible,  and  to  the  instincts  which  the  indwel- 
ling Word  of  God  was  wont  to  awaken  in  his  heart,  while 
he  was  yet  a little  unsophisticated  child  : and  he  will  find 
germs  of  wider  and  deeper  wisdom  than  its  good  author 
ever  dreamed  of;  and  that  those  great  spiritual  laws 
which  he  only  applies,  and  that  often  inconsistently,  to 
an  ascetic  and  passively  contemplative  life,  will  hold  just 
as  good  in  the  family,  in  the  market,  in  the  senate,  in 
the  study,  ay,  in  the  battle-field  itself,  and  teach  him  to 
lead  in  whatsoever  station  of  life  he  may  be  placed, 
a truly  manlike,  because  a truly  Christlike  and  Godlike 
life.  ...” 

“ To  those  who  really  hunger  and  thirst  after  right- 
eousness, and  who  therefore  long  to  know  what  righteous- 
ness is,  that  they  may  copy  it : To  those  who  long  to  be 
freed,  not  merely  from  the  punishment  of  sin  after  they 
die,  but  from  sin  itself  while  they  live  on  earth ; and 
who,  therefore,  wish  to  know  what  sin  is  that  they  may 
avoid  it : To  those  who  wish  to  be  really  justified  by 
faith,  by  being  made  just  persons  by  faith ; and  who 
cannot  satisfy  either  their  consciences  or  reasons  by 
fancying  that  God  looks  on  them  as  right  when  they 
know  themselves  to  be  wrong,  or  that  the  God  of  Truth 


“ Deutsche  Theologia  ” 357 

will  stoop  to  fictions  (mis-called  forensic)  which  would 
be  considered  false  and  unjust  in  any  human  court  of 
law  : To  those  who  cannot  help  trusting  that  union  with 
Christ  must  be  something  real  and  substantial,  and  not 
merely  a metaphor  and  a flower  of  rhetoric  : To  those, 
lastly,  who  cannot  help  seeing  that  the  doctrine  of  Christ 
in  every  man,  as  the  indwelling  Word  of  God,  the  Light 
who  lights  everyone  who  comes  into  the  world,  is  no 
peculiar  tenet  of  the  Quakers,  but  one  which  runs 
through  the  whole  of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments, 
and  without  which  they  would  both  be  unintelligible, 
just  as  the  same  doctrine  runs  through  the  whole  of  che 
early  Church  for  the  first  two  centuries,  and  is  the  only 
explanation  of  them  : To  all  these  this  noble  little  book 
will  recommend  itself.  . . . Not  that  I agree,”  he  says, 
“ with  all  its  contents.  It  is  for  its  noble  views  of  right- 
eousness and  of  sin  that  I honor  it.  . . . ” 

In  June,  on  his  wife’s  account,  he  took  a house 
at  Bideford  for  a year,  where  he  wrote  “ West- 
ward Ho  ! ” The  anxieties  and  expenses  of  illness 
were  very  heavy  just  now,  but  he  always  met 
them  by  a brave  heart,  and  by  cheering  words  to 
her  who  grieved  over  the  labor  they  entailed  on 
him,  and  the  absence  from  Eversley. 

“ I cannot  help  looking  forward,”  he  writes,  “ to  our 
twelve  months  at  Northdown  (Bideford)  as  a blessed 
time.  . . . We  never  have  really  wanted  yet;  all  we 
have  had  to  do  has  been  — best  of  all  trainings  — to 
live  by  faith,  and  to  exert  ourselves.  Oh  ! let  us  be 
content.  We  do  not  know  what  is  good  for  us,  and 
God  does.  . . .” 

“ And  — these  very  money  difficulties  against  which 
you  rebel.  Has  it  not  been  fulfilled  in  them,  ‘ As  thy 
day  so  shall  thy  strength  be  ? * Have  we  ever  been  in 


358  Charles  Kingsley 

any  debt  by  our  own  sin  ? Have  we  ever  really  wanted 
anything  we  needed?  Have  we  not  had  friends,  credit, 
windfalls  — in  all  things,  with  the  temptation,  a way  to 
escape?  Have  they  not  been  God’s  sending?  God’s 
way  of  preventing  the  cup  of  bliss  being  over-sweet  (and 
I thank  Him  heartily  it  has  not  been)  ; and,  consider, 
have  they  not  been  blessed  lessons?  But  do  not  think 
that  I am  content  to  endure  them  any  more  than  the 
race  horse,  because  he  loves  running,  is  content  to  stop 
in  the  middle  of  the  course.  To  pay  them,  I have 
thought,  I have  written,  I have  won  for  us  a name  which, 
please  God,  may  last  among  the  names  of  English 
writers.  Would  you  give  up  the  books  I have  written 
that  we  might  never  have  been  in  difficulties  ? So  out 
of  evil  God  brings  good ; or  rather,  out  of  necessity 
He  brings  strength  — and,  believe  me,  the  highest 
spiritual  training  is  contained  in  the  most  paltry  physical 
accidents ; and  the  meanest  actual  want  may  be  the 
means  of  calling  into  actual  life  the  possible  but  sleep- 
ing embryo  of  the  very  noblest  faculties.  This  is  a 
great  mystery : but  we  are  animals,  in  time  and  space ; 
and  by  time  and  space  and  our  animal  natures  are  we 
educated.  Therefore  let  us  be  only  patient,  patient ; 
and  let  God  our  Father  teach  His  own  lesson,  His  own 
way.  Let  us  try  to  learn  it  well,  and  learn  it  quickly ; 
but  do  not  let  us  fancy  that  He  will  ring  the  school-bell, 
and  send  us  to  play  before  our  lesson  is  learnt. 

“ Therefore  ‘ rejoice  in  your  youth,  ere  the  days  come 
when  thou  shalt  say,  I have  no  pleasure  in  them.’  But 
make  to  yourself  no  ghosts.  And  remember  he  who 
says,  ‘ I will  be  happy  some  day,’  never  will  be  happy  at  all. 
If  we  cannot  be  happy  now  with  ten  times  the  blessings 
which  nine-tenths  of  God’s  creatures  have,  we  shall  never 
be  happy  though  we  lived  a thousand  years.  Let  us  lay  this 
solemnly  to  heart,  and  take  no  thought  for  the  morrow.” 

To  a lady  who  consulted  him  about  Sisterhoods  : 


About  Sisterhoods  359 

Bideford  : July  24,  1854.  — “ Madam,  — Though  I 
make  a rule  of  never  answering  any  letter  from  a lady 
whom  I have  not  the  honor  of  knowing,  yet  I dare  not 
refuse  to  answer  yours.  First,  because  you,  as  it  were, 
challenge  me  on  the  ground  of  my  books  : and  next, 
because  you  tell  me  that  if  I cannot  satisfy  you,  you  will 
do  that,  to  prevent  which,  above  all  things,  my  books 
are  written,  namely,  flee  from  the  world,  instead  of 
staying  in  it  and  trying  to  mend  it. 

“ Be  sure  that  I can  sympathize  with  you  most  deeply 
in  your  dissatisfaction  with  all  things  as  they  are.  That 
feeling  grows  on  me,  as  I trust  in  God  (strange  to  say) 
it  may  grow  on  you,  day  by  day.  I,  too,  have  had  my 
dreams  of  New  Societies,  brotherhoods,  and  so  forth, 
which  were  to  regenerate  the  world.  I,  too,  have  had 
my  admirations  for  Old  Societies  and  brotherhoods  like 
those  of  Loyola  and  Wesley,  which  intended  to  do  the 
same  thing.  But  I have  discovered,  Madam,  that  we 
can  never  really  see  how  much  evil  there  is  around  us, 
till  we  see  how  much  good  there  is  around  us,  just  as  it 
is  light  which  makes  us,  by  contrast,  most  aware  of 
darkness.  And  I have  discovered  also,  that  the  world 
is  already  regenerated  by  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and 
that  all  efforts  of  our  own  to  regenerate  it  are  denials  of 
Him  and  of  the  perfect  regeneration  which  He  ac- 
complished when  He  sat  down  on  the  right  hand  of 
God  having  all  power  given  to  Him  in  heaven  and  in 
earth,  that  He  might  rule  the  earth  in  righteousness  for 
ever.  And  I have  discovered  also,  that  all  societies  and 
brotherhoods  which  may  form,  and  which  ever  have  been 
formed,  are  denials  of  the  One  Catholic  Church  of  faith- 
ful and  righteous  men  (whether  Protestant  or  Roman 
Catholic,  matters  not  to  me)  which  He  has  established  on 
earth,  and  said  that  hell  shall  not  prevail  against 
it.  And  when  I look  back  upon  history,  as  I have 
done  pretty  carefully,  I find  that  all  such  attempts 


360  Charles  Kingsley 

have  been  total  failures,  just  because,  with  the  purest 
and  best  intentions,  they  were  doing  this,  and  thereby 
interfering  with  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ’s  way  of  govern- 
ing the  world,  and  trying  to  introduce  some  new  nostrum 
and  panacea  of  their  own,  narrow  and  paltry,  compared 
with  His  great  ways  in  the  deep. 

“ Therefore,  though  Fox  (to  take  your  own  example) 
was  a most  holy  man,  Quakerism  in  general,  as  a means 
of  regenerating  the  world,  has  been  a disastrous  failure. 
And  so  (I  speak  from  years  of  intimate  experience)  has 
good  John  Wesley’s  Methodist  attempt.  Both  were 
trying  to  lay  a new  foundation  for  human  society,  and 
forgetting  that  one  which  was  already  laid,  which  is  Christ, 
who  surely  has  not  been  managing  the  earth  altogether 
wrongly,  Madam,  for  1800  years,  or  even  before  that? 

“ So,  again,  with  that  truly  holy  and  angelic  man, 
St.  Vincent  de  Paul  — has  he  succeeded?  What  has 
become  of  education,  and  of  the  poor,  in  the  very  land 
where  he  labored?  . . . The  moment  the  personal 
influence  of  his  virtue  was  withdrawn,  down  tumbled  all 
^hat  he  had  done.  He  (may  God  bless  him  all  the 
same)  had  no  panacea  for  the  world’s  ills.  He  was  not 
a husband  or  a father  — how  could  he  teach  men  to  be 
good  husbands  and  fathers?  You  point  to  what  he  and 
his  did.  I know  what  they  did  in  South  America,  and 
beautiful  it  was ; but,  alas  ! I know,  too,  that  they  could 
give  no  life  to  their  converts ; they  could  not  regenerate 
society  among  the  savages  of  Paraguay ; and  the  moment 
the  Jesuit’s  gentle  despotism  was  withdrawn,  down  fell 
the  reductions  again  into  savagery,  having  lost  even  the 
one  savage  virtue  of  courage.  The  Jesuits  were  shut 
out,  by  their  vows,  from  political  and  family  life.  How 
could  they  teach  their  pupils  the  virtues  which  belong 
to  those  states  ? But  all  Europe  knows  what  the  Jesuits 
did  in  a country  where  they  had  every  chance ; where 
for  a century  they  were  the  real  rulers,  in  court  and 


About  Sisterhoods 


361 

camp,  as  well  as  in  schools  and  cloisters,  I mean  in 
France.  They  tried  their  very  best  (and  tried,  I am 
bound  to  believe,  earnestly  and  with  good  intent)  to 
regenerate  France.  And  they  caused  the  Revolution. 
Madam,  the  horrors  of  1793  were  the  natural  fruit  of 
the  teaching  of  the  very  men  who  not  only  would  have 
died  sooner  than  bring  about  these  horrors,  but  died  too 
many  of  them,  alas!  by  them.  And  how  was  this? 
By  trying  to  set  up  a system  of  society  and  morals  of 
their  own,  they  uprooted  in  the  French  every  element 
of  faith  in,  and  reverence  for,  the  daily  duties  and 
relations  of  human  life,  without  knowing  it  — without 
meaning  it.  May  God  keep  you  from  the  same  snare, 
of  fancying,  as  all  ‘ Orders/  Societies,  and  Sects  do,  that 
they  invent  a better  system  of  society  than  the  old  one, 
wherein  God  created  man  in  His  own  image,  viz.,  of 
father,  and  son,  husband  and  wife,  brother  and  sister, 
master  and  servant,  king  and  subject.  Madam,  these 
are  more  divine  and  godlike  words  than  all  the  brother- 
hoods, ‘ Societies  of  Friends/  < Associations  of  the 
Sacred  Heart/  or  whatsoever  bonds  good  and  loving 
men  and  women  have  from  time  to  time  invented  to 
keep  themselves  in  that  sacred  unity  from  which  they 
felt  they  were  falling.  I can  well  believe  that  you  feel 
it  difficult  to  keep  in  it  now.  God  knows  that  I do  : 
but  never  will  I (and  I trust  you  never  will)  yield  to 
that  temptation  which  the  devil  put  before  our  Lord, 
‘ Cast  thyself  down  from  hence,  for  it  is  written  He  shall 
give  His  angels  charge  over  Thee/  &c.  Madam,  when- 
ever we  leave  the  station  where  God  has  placed  us,  be 
it  for  never  so  seemingly  self-sacrificing  and  chivalrous 
and  saintly  an  end,  we  are  tempting  the  Lord  our  God ; 
we  are  yielding  most  utterly  to  that  very  self-will  which 
we  are  pretending  to  abjure.  As  long  as  you  have  a 
parent,  a sister,  a servant,  to  whom  you  can  do  good  in 
those  simple  every-day  relations  and  duties  of  life, 


362  Charles  Kingsley 

which  are  most  divine,  because  they  are  most  human, 
so  long  will  the  entering  a cloister  be  tempting  the 
Lord  your  God.  And  so  long,  Madam,  will  it  be  the 
doing  all  in  your  power  to  counteract  every  word  which 
I have  ever  written.  My  object  has  been  and  is,  and  I 
trust  in  God  ever  will  be,  to  make  people  see  that  they 
need  not,  as  St.  Paul  says,  go  up  into  heaven,  or  go 
down  to  the  deep,  to  find  Christ,  because  He,  the  Word 
whom  we  preach,  is  very  near  them,  in  their  hearts  and 
on  their  lips,  if  they  would  but  believe  it ; and  ready, 
not  to  set  them  afloat  on  new  untried  oceans  of  schemes 
and  projects,  but  ready  to  inspire  them  to  do  their  duty 
humbly  and  simply  where  He  has  put  them  — and 
believe  me,  Madam,  the  only  way  to  regenerate  the 
world  is  to  do  the  duty  which  lies  nearest  us,  and  not  to 
hunt  after  grand,  far-fetched  ones  for  ourselves.  If  each 
drop  of  rain  chose  where  it  should  fall,  God’s  showers 
would  not  fall,  as  they  do  now,  on  the  evil  and  on  the 
good  alike.  I know  from  the  experience  of  my  own 
heart  — how  galling  this  doctrine  is  — how,  like  Naaman, 
one  goes  away  in  a rage,  because  the  Prophet  has  not 
bid  us  do  some  great  thing,  but  only  to  go  and  wash  in 
the  nearest  brook,  and  be  clean.  But,  Madam,  be 
sure  that  he  who  is  not  faithful  in  a little  will  never  be 
fit  to  be  ruler  over  much.  He  who  cannot  rule  his  own 
household  will  never  (as  St.  Paul  says)  rule  the  Church 
of  God ; and  he  who  cannot  keep  his  temper,  or  be  self- 
sacrificing,  cheerful,  tender,  attentive  at  home,  will  never 
be  of  any  real  and  permanent  use  to  God’s  poor  abroad. 

“ Wherefore,  Madam,  if,  as  you  say,  you  feel  what  St. 
Francis  de  Sales  calls  ‘ a dryness  of  soul  ’ about  good 
works  and  charity,  consider  well  within  yourself,  whether 
the  simple  reason,  and  (no  shame  on  you  !)  be  not  only 
because  God  does  not  wish  you  just  yet  to  labor  among 
the  poor ; because  He  has  not  yet  finished  educating 
you  for  that  good  work,  and  therefore  will  not  let  you 


Crimean  War  363 

handle  tools  before  you  know  how  to  use  them.  Begin 
with  small  things,  Madam  — you  cannot  enter  the  pres- 
ence of  another  human  being  without  finding  there  more 
to  do  than  you  or  I,  or  any  soul,  will  ever  learn  to  do 
perfectly  before  we  die.  Let  us  be  content  to  do  little, 
if  God  sets  us  at  little  tasks.  It  is  but  pride  and  self- 
will  which  says,  ‘ give  me  something  huge  to  fight,  — 
and  I should  enjoy  that  — but  why  make  me  sweep  the 
dust  ? ’ Finally,  Madam,  be  sure  of  one  thing,  that  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  is  King  of  this  earth,  and  all  therein  ; 
and  that  if  you  will  do  faithfully  what  He  has  set  you  to 
already,  and  thereby  using  the  order  of  a Deaconess 
well,  gain  to  yourself  a good  foundation  in  your  soul’s 
training,  he  will  give  you  more  to  do  in  His  good  time, 
and  of  His  good  kind. 

“ If  you  are  inclined  to  answer  this  letter,  let  me  ask 
you  not  to  answer  it  for  at  least  three  months  to  come. 
It  may  be  good  for  you  to  have  read  it  over  a second  time. 

“ I am,  Madam,  your  obedient  servant, 

“C.  Kingsley.” 

To  Rev.  F.  Maurice:  Oct.  19.  — “We  think  of  noth- 
ing but  the  war.  ...  But  all  will  go  well,  please  God ; 
and  ‘ the  ancient  spirit  is  not  dead,’  as  the  heights  of 
the  Alma  prove.  As  to  your  people’s  college,  it  is  a 
noble  plan.  I wish  I could  help  in  it ; but  I am  shut 
up  like  any  Jeremiah  here,  living  on  the  newspapers 
and  my  own  Elizabethan  books.  The  novel  is  more 
than  half  done,  and  a most  ruthless,  bloodthirsty  book 
it  is  (just  what  the  times  want,  I think).  I am  afraid 
I have  a little  of  the  wolf-vein  in  me,  in  spite  of  fifteen 
centuries  of  civilization  ; and  so,  I sometimes  suspect, 
have  you,  and  if  you  had  not  you  would  not  be  as 
tender  and  loving  as  you  are.  Sooner  one  caress  from 
a mastiff  than  twenty  from  a spaniel.  I wish  you  were 
here,  I want  to  ask  you  a thousand  things.  I am  some' 


364  Charles  Kingsley 

times  very  sad;  always  very  puzzled.  . . . This  war 
would  have  made  me  half  mad,  if  I had  let  it.  It 
seemed  so  dreadful  to  hear  of  those  Alma  heights  being 
taken  and  not  be  there ; but  God  knows  best,  and  I 
suppose  I am  not  fit  for  such  brave  work ; but  only  like 
Camille  Desmoulins,  ‘ une  pauvre  creature , ne'e  pour faire 
des  vers .*  But  I can  fight  with  my  pen  still  (I  don’t 
mean  in  controversy  — I am  sick  of  that  . . . but  in 
writing  books  which  will  make  others  fight).  This  one 
is  to  be  called  ‘ Westward  Ho  ! * . . . The  writing  of  it 
has  done  me  much  good.  I have  been  living  in  those 
Elizabethan  books,  among  such  grand,  beautiful,  silent 
men,  that  I am  learning  to  be  sure  of  what  I all  along 
suspected,  that  I am  a poor,  queasy,  hysterical,  half- 
baked  sort  of  a fellow,  and  so  am  inclined  to  sing  small, 
and  am  by  no  means  hopeful  about  my  book,  which 
seems  to  me  only  half  as  good  as  I could  have  written, 
and  only  one-hundredth  as  good  as  ought  to  be  written 
on  the  matter;  but  at  least  God  bless  you.” 

Dec . 31.  — u I see  my  way  through  politics,  as  through 
everything  else,  less  and  less,  and  believe  more  and 
more  that  the  present  ministry  see  as  far  as  anyone  else, 
and  are  doing  their  best.  Who  ever  saw  far  in  a storm  ? 
which,  by  the  very  nature  of  it,  clouds  and  narrows  the 
whole  horizon  with  boundless  ugly  possibilities.” 

To  T.  Hughes,  Esq.  Bideford:  December  18, 
1854.  — “.  . . As  to  the  war,  I am  getting  more  of 
a Government  man  every  day.  As  for  a ballad  — oh  ! 
my  dear  lad,  there  is  no  use  fiddling  while  Rome  is 
burning.  I have  nothing  to  sing  about  those  glorious 
fellows,  except  ‘ God  save  the  Queen  and  them.’  I 
tell  you  the  whole  thing  stuns  me,  so  I cannot  sit  down  to 
make  fiddle  rhyme  with  diddle  about  it  — or  blundered 
with  hundred,  like  Alfred  Tennyson.  . . . Every  man  has 
his  calling,  and  my  novel  is  mine,  because  I am  fit  for  noth- 


“ Westward  Ho  ! ” 


365 

ing  better.  The  book  Westward  Ho  ! ’)  will  be  out 
the  middle  or  end  of  January.  It  is  a sanguinary  book, 
but  perhaps  containing  doctrine  profitable  for  these  times. 

“ Tummas  ! Have  you  read  the  story  of  Abou  Zennab, 
his  horse,  in  Stanley's  ‘ Sinai,'  p.  6 7?  What  a myth! 
What  a poem  old  Wordsworth  would  have  writ  thereon  ! 
If  I did  n’t  cry  like  a baby  over  it.  What  a brick  of  a 
horse  he  must  have  been,  and  what  a brick  of  an  old 
head-splitter  Abou  Zennab  must  have  been,  to  have  his 
commandments  keeped  unto  this  day  concerning  of  his 
horse ; and  no  one  to  know  who  he  was,  nor  when,  nor 
how,  nor  nothing.  I wonder  if  anybody  ’ll  keep  our 
commandments  after  we  be  gone,  much  less  say,  ‘ Eat, 
eat,  oh  horse  of  Abou  Kingsley  ! ' " 

To  J.  Simon,  Esq.,  M.D.  December  28.  — “I  have 
just  read,  with  intense  pleasure,  your  City  Cholera  Re- 
port, in  the  columns  of  the  ‘ Times.’  Verily  the  days 
are  coming  (they  have  not  been  of  late  years)  when,  as 
the  Prophet  says,  ‘a  man  shall  be  more  precious  than 
fine  gold ; ' when  the  lives  and  manhood  of  the  citizens 
will  be  found  more  valuable  to  a nation,  after  all,  than 
the  wealth  of  a few,  or  even  than  the  mere  brute  physi- 
cal employment  of  vast  numbers.  And  if  we  are  to  fur- 
nish many  more  levies  of  men  who  will  equal  the  heroes 
of  Inkerman,  we  must  open  our  eyes,  and  first  keep 
them  alive  when  they  are  infants,  and  next,  give  them 
such  an  atmosphere  to  grow  up  in,  that  they  shall 
become  men  and  not  rickety  monkeys  : and  your  labors 
are  helping  towards  this  good  end.  It  is  a sad  thing 
that  ‘ food  for  powder  ’ requires  to  be  of  the  best  qual- 
ity; but  so  it  is,  and  unless  the  physical  deterioration 
of  the  lower  classes  is  stopt  by  bold  sanatory  reform, 
such  as  you  have  been  working  out,  we  shall  soon  have 
rifles,  but  no  men  to  shoulder  them ; at  least  to  use  the 
butts  of  them  when  required.” 


CHAPTER  XIII 


^55 

Aged  36 

Bideford — Crimean  War  — Death  of  his  Friend  Charles 
Blachford  Mansfield  — “ Westward  Ho  ! ” — Letters 
from  Mr.  Henry  Drummond  and  Rajah  Brooke  — 
On  Bigots  — Drawing  Class  for  Mechanics  at  Bide- 
ford— Leaves  Devonshire  — Lecture  to  Ladies  in 
London — On  Being  an  Artist — The  “Heroes”  — 
Letter  on  Fame. 

“ Then  in  such  hour  of  need 
Of  your  fainting,  dispirited  race, 

Ye,  like  angels,  appear. 

Radiant  with  ardor  divine. 

Beacons  of  hope,  ye  appear ! 

Languor  is  not  in  your  heart, 

Weakness  is  not  in  your  word, 

Weariness  not  on  your  brow. 

Ye  alight  in  our  van;  at  your  voice, 

Panic,  despair,  flee  away. 

Ye  move  through  the  ranks,  recall 
The  stragglers,  refresh  the  out-worn, 

Praise,  re-inspire  the  brave. 

Order,  courage,  return. 

Eyes  re-kindling  and  prayers 
Follow  your  steps  as  ye  go. 

Ye  fill  up  the  gaps  in  our  files, 

Strengthen  the  wavering  line, 

Stablish,  continue  our  march 
On  to  the  bound  of  the  waste, 

On  to  the  city  of  God.” 

Matthew  Arnold. 

THE  Crimean  winter,  bitter  alike  to  the  brave 
men  before  Sebastopol  and  to  the  hearts 
of  all  Englishmen  and  women  at  home,  weighed 
heavily  on  Charles  Kingsley,  to  whom  the  war 


Crimean  War 


367 

was  like  a dreadful  nightmare,  which  haunted  him 
day  and  night.  “I  can  think  of  nothing  but  the 
war, ” he  said;  and  on  the  receipt  of  a letter  from 
a friend  telling  him  of  the  numbers  of  tracts  sent 
out  to  the  soldiers  which  they  never  read,  but 
looked  upon  as  so  much  waste  paper,  and  urging 
him  to  write  something  which  would  go  home  to 
them  in  their  misery,  he  sat  down,  wrote  off,  and 
despatched  the  same  day  to  London  a tract  known 
probably  to  few  in  England  — “ Brave  Words  to 
Brave  Soldiers  and  Sailors.”1  Several  thousand 
copies  were  sent  out  and  distributed  in  the 
Crimea,  and  the  stirring  words  touched  many  a 
noble  soul.  It  was  published  anonymously  to 
avoid  the  prejudice  which  was  attached  to  the 
name  of  its  author  in  all  sections  of  the  religious 
world  and  press  at  that  period. 

To  T.  Hughes,  Esq.  Bideford  : 1855.  — “ You  may 
have  fancied  me  a bit  of  a renegade  and  a hanger-back 
of  late. 

4 Still  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires.’ 

And  if  I have  held  back  from  the  Social  Movement,  it 
has  been  because  I have  seen  that  the  world  was  not 
going  to  be  set  right  in  any  such  rose-pink  way,  excel- 
lent as  it  is,  and  that  there  are  heavy  arrears  of  destruc- 
tion to  be  made  up,  before  construction  can  even  begin  ; 
and  I wanted  to  see  what  those  arrears  were.  And  I do 
see  a little.  At  least  I see  that  the  old  phoenix  must 
burn , before  the  new  one  can  rise  out  of  its  ashes. 
Next,  as  to  our  army.  I quite  agree  with  you  about  that 
— if  it  existed  to  agree  about.  But  the  remnant  that 
comes  home,  like  gold  tried  in  the  fire,  may  be  the  seed 

1 Now  reprinted  in  “True  Words,”  a volume  for  Soldiers'  and 
Sailors'  Libraries. 


368  Charles  Kingsley 

of  such  an  army  as  the  world  never  saw.  Perhaps  we 
may  help  it  to  germinate.  But  please  don’t  compare  the 
dear  fellows  to  Cromwell’s  Ironsides.  There  is  a great 
deal  of  ‘ personal  ’ religion  in  the  army,  no  doubt : and 
personal  religion  may  help  men  to  endure,  and  complete 
the  bull-dog  form  of  courage : but  the  soldier  wants 
more.  He  wants  a faith  that  he  is  fighting  on  God’s 
side ; he  wants  military  and  corporate  and  national  re- 
ligion, and  that  is  what  I fear  he  has  yet  to  get,  and 
what  I tried  to  give  in  my  tract.  That  is  what  Crom- 
well’s Ironsides  had,  and  by  it  they  conquered.  That  is 
what  the  Elizabethans  had  up  to  the  Armada,  and  by  it 
they  conquered.” 

On  the  death  of  Captain  Hedley  Vicars,  who 
was  killed  in  a sortie,  he  writes  to  Miss  Marsh : 

Bideford:  May  9,  1855.  — “•  • • These  things  are 
most  bitter,  and  the  only  comfort  which  I can  see  in 
them  is,  that  they  are  bringing  us  all  face  to  face  with 
the  realities  of  human  life,  as  it  has  been  in  all  ages,  and 
giving  us  sterner  and  yet  more  loving,  more  human,  and 
more  divine  thoughts  about  ourselves,  and  our  business 
here,  and  the  fate  of  those  who  are  gone,  and  awakening 
us  out  of  the  luxurious,  frivolous,  unreal  dream  (full 
nevertheless  of  harsh  judgments,  and  dealings  forth  of 
damnation),  in  which  we  have  been  living  so  long — to 
trust  in  a Living  Father  who  is  really  and  practically 
governing  this  world  and  all  worlds,  and  who  willeth  that 
none  should  perish  — and  therefore  has  not  forgotten,  or 
suddenly  begun  to  hate  or  torment,  one  single  poor  soul 
which  is  past  out  of  this  life  into  some  other,  on  that 
accursed  Crimean  soil.  All  are  in  our  Father’s  hands  ; 
and  as  David  says,  Though  they  go  down  into  hell,  He 
is  there.  Oh  ! blessed  thought  — more  blessed  to  me  at 
this  moment  (who  think  more  of  the  many  than  of  the 
few)  than  the  other  thought,  that  though  they  ascend 


Charles  Blachford  Mansfield  369 

into  heaven  with  your  poor  lost  hero,  He  is  there 
also.  . . ” 

During  this  winter  a personal  sorrow  came,  and 
God  took  from  him,  for  a time,  one  who  had  been 
his  beloved  friend  for  seventeen  years,  Charles 
Blachford  Mansfield  1 — the  Will  Willow-wren  of 
“ Politics  for  the  People,”  and  one  of  the  Council 
of  Promoters  of  Association.  No  record  of 
Charles  Kingsley  would  be  complete  unless  it  in- 
cluded a sketch  of  one  who  was  so  entwined  with 
the  memory  of  his  Cambridge  days,  with  the  rec- 
tory life  at  Eversley,  and  with  the  winter  of 
1848-9  in  Devonshire.  He  died,  at  Middlesex 
Hospital,  a martyr  to  Science. 

“ I knew  Charles  Mansfield  first  when  he  was  at  Clare 
Hall  in  1838-9,  sometime  in  my  freshman’s  winter.  He 
was  born  in  the  year  1819,  at  a Hampshire  parsonage, 
and  in  due  time  went  to  school  at  Winchester,  in  the 
old  days  of  that  iron  rule  among  masters,  and  that  brutal 
tyranny  among  the  boys  themselves,  which  are  now  fast 
disappearing  before  the  example  and  influence  of  the 
great  Arnold.  Crushed  at  the  outset,  he  gave  little  evi- 
dence of  talent  beyond  his  extraordinary  fondness  for 
mechanical  science.  But  the  regime  of  Winchester  told 
on  his  mind  in  after  life  for  good  and  for  evil ; first,  by 
arousing  in  him  a stern  horror  of  injustice  (and  in  that 
alone  he  was  stern),  and  next,  by  arousing  in  him  a 
doubt  of  all  precedents,  a chafing  against  all  constituted 
authority,  of  which  he  was  not  cured  till  after  long  and 
sad  experience.  What  first  drew  me  to  him  was  the 
combination  of  body  and  mind.  He  was  so  wonderfully 
graceful,  active,  and  daring.  He  was  more  like  an  ante- 

1 Author  of  a “Treatise  on  Benzole,”  a “Theory  of  Salts,” 
“ Aerial  Navigation,”  and  “ Letters  from  Paraguay.” 

VOL.  I.  — 24 


370  Charles  Kingsley 

lope  than  a man.  ...  I believe  him  to  have  been  physi- 
cally incapable  of  fear.  . . . The  next  thing  which  drew 
me  to  him  was  his  intellect,  not  merely  that  he  talked  of 
the  highest  things,  but  he  did  it  in  such  a wonderful 
way.  He  cared  for  nothing  but  truth.  He  would 
argue  by  the  hour,  but  never  for  arguing’s  sake.  None 
can  forget  the  brilliance  of  his  conversation,  the  elo- 
quence with  which  he  could  assert,  the  fancy  with  which 
he  could  illustrate,  the  earnestness  with  which  he  could 
enforce,  the  sweetness  with  which  he  could  differ,  the 
generosity  with  which  he  could  yield.  Perhaps  the 
secret  of  that  fascination,  which  he  quite  unconsciously 
exercised  over  all  who  really  knew  him,  was  the  virtue 
of  earnestness.  . . . He  was  just  waiting  for  the  king- 
dom of  God.  . . . When  the  truth  was  shown  to  him, 
he  leapt  up  and  embraced  it.  There  was  the  most  in- 
tense faith  in  him  from  the  first  that  Right  was  right, 
and  Wrong  wrong ; that  Right  must  conquer  ; that  there 
was  a kingdom  of  God  Eternal  in  the  heavens,  an  ideal 
righteous  polity,  to  which  the  world  ought  to  be,  and 
some  day  would  be,  conformed.  That  was  his  central 
idea.  . . . Added  to  this  unconquerable  faith  in  good, 
was  an  unconquerable  faith  in  truth.  He  first  taught  me 
not  to  be  afraid  of  truth.  ‘ If  a thing  is  so,  you  can’t  be 
the  worse  for  knowing  it  is  so,’  was  his  motto,  and  well 
he  carried  it  out.  This  was  connected,  it  seems  to  me, 
with  his  intense  conscientiousness.  Of  his  conscientious- 
ness I could  write  pages.  ...  All  knight- errant  honor 
which  I ever  heard  of,  that  man  might  have,  perhaps 
has,  actually  outdone.  From  the  time  of  his  leaving 
Cambridge  he  devoted  himself  to  science.  . . . The 
history  of  his  next  ten  years  is  fantastic  enough,  were  it 
written,  to  form  material  for  any  romance.  Long  periods 
of  voluntary  penury,  when  (though  a man  of  fair  worldly 
fortune)  he  would  subsist  on  the  scantiest  fare  — a few 
dates  and  some  brown  bread,  or  a few  lentils  — at  the 


Charles  Blachford  Mansfield  371 

cost  of  a few  pence  a day,  bestowing  his  savings  on  the 
poor ; bitter  private  sorrows,  which  were  schooling  his 
heart  and  temper  into  a tone  more  purely  angelic  than  I 
have  ever  seen  in  man ; magnificent  projects,  worked 
out  as  far  as  they  would  go,  not  wildly  and  superficially, 
but  on  the  most  deliberate  and  accurate  grounds  of 
science,  then  thrown  away  in  disappointment,  for  some 
fresh  noble  dream ; an  intense  interest  in  the  social  and 
political  condition  of  the  poor,  which  sprang  up  in  him, 
to  his  great  moral  benefit,  during  the  last  five  years  of  his 
life.  . . . He  left  a trail  of  light  wherever  he  went.  . . . 

“ He  would  flash  down  over  the  glebe  at  Eversley, 
with  his  knapsack  at  his  back,  like  a shining  star  ap- 
pearing with  peace  on  earth  and  good-will  to  men,  and 
bringing  an  involuntary  smile  into  the  faces  of  everyone 
who  met  him  — the  compelled  reflection  of  his  own 
smile.  His  voice  was  like  the  singing  of  a bird  in  its 
wonderful  cheerfulness,  tenderness,  and  gaiety. 

“ At  last,  when  he  was  six- and- thirty  years  of  age,  his 
victory  in  the  battle  of  life  seemed  complete.  His 
enormous  and  increasing  labor  seemed  rather  to  have 
quickened  and  steadied  than  tired  his  brain.  The 
clouds  which  had  beset  his  path  had  all  but  cleared, 
and  left  sunshine  and  hope  for  the  future.  . . . He  was 
already  recognized  as  one  of  the  most  promising  young 
chemists  in  England,  for  whose  future  fame  no  hope 
could  be  too  high-pitched ; and  a patent  for  a chemical 
discovery  which  he  had  obtained,  seemed,  after  years 
of  delay  and  disappointment,  to  promise  him  what  he 
of  all  men  coveted  least,  renown  and  wealth.  One  day 
he  was  at  work  on  some  experiments  connected  with 
his  patent.  By  a mistake  of  the  lad  who  assisted  him, 
the  apparatus  got  out  of  order,  the  naphtha  boiled  over 
and  was  already  on  fire.  To  save  the  premises  from  the 
effect  of  an  explosion,  Mr.  Mansfield  caught  up  the  still 
in  his  arms,  and  attempted  to  carry  it  out ; the  door  was 


372  Charles  Kingsley 

fast ; he  tried  to  hurl  it  through  the  window,  but  too  late. 
The  still  dropped  from  his  hands,  half  flayed  with  liquid 
fire.  He  scrambled  out,  rolled  in  the  snow,  and  so  ex- 
tinguished the  flame.  Fearfully  burnt  and  bruised,  he 
was  taken  to  Middlesex  Hospital,  where,  after  nine  days 
of  agony,  he  died  like  a Christian  man. 

“ Oh,  fairest  of  souls  ! Happy  are  those  who  knew 
thee  in  this  life  ! Happier  those  who  will  know  thee  in 
the  life  to  come  ! C.  K.” 

They  are  together  now ! Two  true  and  perfect 
knights  of  God,  perchance  on  some  fresh  noble 
quest ! 

“ Westward  Ho ! ” came  out  this  winter.  It 
was  dedicated  to  Rajah  Brooke  and  Bishop  Sel- 
wyn,  two  of  his  heroes,  and,  in  course  of  time, 
produced  the  following  letters  from  Mr.  Henry 
Drummond,  of  Albury,  and  from  the  Rajah. 

Albemarle  Street,  May  13,  1855. 

“ Dear  Sir,  — I have  just  seen  your  noble  dedication 
of  ‘ Westward  Ho  ! * to  Sir  J.  Brooke,  and  have  taken 
the  liberty  to  desire  a copy  of  the  shameful  trial  to 
which  he  has  been  subjected  to  be  sent  you,  as  I am 
sure  it  will  gratify  you.  I heard  from  him  last  week  : he 
is  quite  well,  and  all  his  work  prospering.  A remark- 
able thing  is  about  to  take  place  in  Sarawak.  The 
people  finding  themselves  dealt  with  in  a manner  so 
superior  to  that  in  which  they  are  dealt  with  by  their 
own  rulers,  have  considered  that  the  religion  of  their 
present  governor  must  be  the  true  religion,  and  accord- 
ingly are  about  to  apply  en  masse  to  become  members 
of  Brooke’s  religion.  In  my  opinion  the  only  means 
which  should  be  used  towards  heathen  is  the  manifesta- 
tion of  mercy,  justice,  and  truth.  The  poor  bishop’s 
trouble  will  begin  after  he  has  got  his  converts. 


Rajah  Brooke  373 

“ Begging  pardon  for  this  intrusion  from  a stranger, 

“ I am,  Sir,  with  great  admiration  of  your  writings, 
“ Your  obedient  Servant, 

“ Henry  Drummond.” 

“ My  dear  Sir,  — I have  long  delayed  to  thank  you 
in  person  for  a very  welcome  dedication  to  ‘ Westward 
Ho  ! * but  business,  with  many  cares,  prevented  me.  I 
cannot,  however,  now  that  I hear  of  your  kind  interest 
in  my  cause,  and  the  exertions  you  are  making  to  ad- 
vance it,  forbear  from  assuring  you  of  my  sense  of  your 
good  opinion,  and  the  good  it  does  me  mentally.  My 
life  is  pretty  well  at  its  dregs,  and  I shall  be  glad  indeed 
to  pass  the  few  remaining  months  or  years  in  quiet  and 
free  from  the  anxieties  which  must  beset  the  post  I have 
occupied,  but  which  of  late  years  have  been  increased 
tenfold,  owing  to  the  course  or  rather  no  course  pur- 
sued by  the  Government.  It  is  a sad  but  true  expe- 
rience, that  everything  has  succeeded  with  the  natives, 
and  everything  has  failed  with  the  English  in  Borneo. 
I am  anxious  to  retire,  for  Sarawak  should  not  be  ruled 
by  a failing  man,  and  I would  not  cling  to  power  when 
unable  to  discharge  its  duties.  In  due  time  I would 
fain  hand  over  my  staff  to  my  successor  if  permitted  ; 
but  if  forced  to  return  to  Sarawak,  to  bear  its  anxieties 
and  share  its  trials,  I shall  know  it  is  a duty  though  a 
trying  one,  and  shall  not  begrudge  the  exertion  for  the 
short  time  I can  make  it.  Let  me  thank  you,  then,  for 
your  kindness,  and  let  me  have  the  satisfaction  of  know- 
ing you  before  I leave  this  country.  . . . 

“ Believe  me,  my  dear  Sir, 

“ Yours  very  sincerely, 

“J.  Brooke.’' 

For  years  past  Mr.  Kingsley  had  bitterly  re- 
sented the  attacks  made  upon  Rajah  Brooke  by 
the  press  during  his  government  of  Borneo,  and 


374  Charles  Kingsley 

had  expressed  his  own  views  on  the  subject  to  Mr. 
Ludlow. 

“ I have  an  old  * crow  to  pick  with  you  9 about  my 
hero,  Rajah  Brooke ; and  my  spirit  is  stirred  within  me 
this  morning  by  seeing  that  the  press  are  keeping  up  the 
attack  on  him  for  the  Borneo  business.  I say  at  once 
that  I think  he  was  utterly  right  and  righteous.  If  I had 
been  in  his  place  I would  have  done  the  same.  If  it  is 
to  do  again,  I trust  he  will  have  courage  to  do  it  again. 
But,  thank  God,  just  because  it  is  done  it  will  not  have 
to  be  done  again.  The  truest  benevolence  is  occasional 
severity.  It  is  expedient  that  one  man  die  for  the 
people.  One  tribe  exterminated,  if  need  be,  to  save  a 
whole  continent.  ‘ Sacrifice  of  human  life  ? * Prove 
that  it  is  hic7nan  life.  It  is  beast-life.  These  Dyaks 
have  put  on  the  image  of  the  beast,  and  they  must  take 
the  consequence.  ‘ Value  of  life  ? * Oh,  Ludlow,  read 
history ; look  at  the  world,  and  see  whether  God  values 
mere  physical  existence.  Look  at  the  millions  who  fall 
in  war ; the  mere  fact  that  savage  races,  though  they 
breed  like  rabbits,  never  increase  in  number ; and  then, 
beware  lest  you  reproach  your  Maker.  Christ  died  for 
them?  Yes,  and  He  died  for  the  whole  creation  as 
well  — the  whole  world,  Ludlow — for  the  sheep  you  eat, 
the  million  animalcules  which  the  whale  swallows  at  every 
gape.  They  shall  all  be  hereafter  delivered  into  the 
glorious  liberty  of  the  children  of  God ; but,  as  yet,  just 
consider  the  mere  fact  of  beasts  of  prey,  the  countless 
destruction  which  has  been  going  on  for  ages  and  ages, 
long  before  Adam’s  fall,  and  then  consider.  Physical 
death  is  no  evil.  It  may  be  a blessing  to  the  survivors. 
Else,  why  pestilence,  famine,  Cromwell  and  Perrot  in 
Ireland,  Charlemagne  hanging  4000  Saxons  over  the 
Weser  Bridge ; did  not  God  bless  those  terrible  right- 
eous judgments?  Do  you  believe  in  the  Old  Testa- 
ment? Surely,  then,  say,  what  does  that  destruction  of 


Rajah  Brooke  375 

the  Canaanites  mean?  If  it  was  right,  Rajah  Brooke 
was  right.  If  he  be  wrong,  then  Moses,  Joshua,  David, 
were  wrong.  No  ! I say.  Because  Christ’s  kingdom  is 
a kingdom  of  peace  ; because  the  meek  alone  shall  inherit 
the  earth,  therefore,  you  Malays  and  Dyaks  of  Sarawak, 
you  also  are  enemies  to  peace.  ‘ Your  feet  swift  to  shed 
blood,  the  poison  of  asps  under  your  lips  ; ’ you  who  have 
been  warned,  reasoned  with ; who  have  seen,  in  the  case 
of  the  surrounding  nations,  the  strength  and  happiness 
which  peace  gives,  and  will  not  repent,  but  remain  still 
murderers  and  beasts  of  prey  — You  are  the  enemies  of 
Christ,  the  Prince  of  Peace ; you  are  beasts,  all  the  more 
dangerous,  because  you  have  a semi-human  cunning.  I 
will,  like  David,  ‘hate  you  with  a perfect  hatred,  even 
as  though  you  were  my  enemies.’  I will  blast  you  out 
with  grape  and  rockets,  ‘ I will  beat  you  as  small  as  the 
dust  before  the  wind.’  You,  ‘ the  strange  children  that 
dissemble  with  me,  shall  fail/  and  be  exterminated,  and 
be  afraid  out  of  your  infernal  river- forts,  as  the  old 
Canaanites  were  out  of  their  hill-castles.  I say,  honor 
to  a man,  who,  amid  all  the  floods  of  sentimental  cow- 
ard cant,  which  by  some  sudden  revulsion  may,  and  I 
fear  will,  become  coward  cruelty,  dares  act  manfully  on 
the  broad  sense  of  right,  as  Rajah  Brooke  is  doing. 
Oh,  Ludlow,  Ludlow,  recollect  how  before  the  ’89  men 
were  maundering  about  universal  peace  and  philan- 
thropy, too  loving  to  hate  God’s  enemies,  too  indulgent 
to  punish  sin.  Recollect  how  Robespierre  began  by 
refusing,  on  conscientious  principles,  to  assist  at  the 
punishment  of  death  ! Just  read,  read  the  last  three 
chapters  of  the  Revelations,  and  then  say,  whether  these 
same  organs  of  destructiveness  and  combativeness,  which 
we  now-a-days,  in  our  Manichseism,  consider  as  the 
devil’s  creation,  may  not  be  part  of  the  image  of  God, 
and  Christ  the  Son  of  God,  to  be  used  in  His  service 
and  to  His  glory,  just  as  much  as  our  benevolence  or 


376  Charles  Kingsley 

our  veneration.  Consider  — and  the  Lord  give  thee 
grace  to  judge  what  I say.  I may  be  wrong.  But  He 
will  teach  us  both ; and  show  this  to  Maurice,  and  ask 
him  if  I am  altogether  a fiend  therein.  . . . 

“ I have  been  seeing  lately  an  intimate  friend  of 
Rajah  Brooke,  and  hearing  things  which  make  me  love 
the  man  more  and  more.  I think  the  preserving 
that  great  line  of  coast  from  horrible  outrage,  by 
destroying  the  pirate  fleet,  was  loving  his  neighbor 
as  himself.  . . .” 

TO  A WESLEYAN  MINISTER 

April \ 1855.  — “ Most  truly  pleasant  it  is  to  me  to 
find  that  my  words  have  gone  home  to  the  heart  of  any 
man,  and  much  more  to  that  of  one  employed  in  preaching 
Christ’s  Gospel.  Churchman  as  I am,  I can  bid  any 
man  God-speed  who  really  wishes  to  preach  ‘ deliver- 
ance to  captives,  and  recovery  of  sight  to  the  blind,  and 
an  acceptable  year  of  the  Lord.’  Do  you  do  so?  and 
is  the  year  of  the  Lord  which  you  preach  acceptable,  or 
awful,  horrible,  a slander  to  Him  who  hateth  nothing 
that  He  hath  made,  who  hath  made  all  men,  and  all 
things,  save  sin,  and  desires  to  deliver  men  from  sin, 
and  therefore  will  assuredly,  unless  evil  be  stronger  than 
good,  and  God’s  creation  a failure,  see  His  desire  ful- 
filled? I only  ask  you  this  question  first  that  by  your 
answer  to  it  we  may  know  how  deep  our  sympathy  ex- 
tends. And  now  I thank  you  heartily  for  the  manner 
of  your  letter,  and  God  heartily  for  the  matter  of  it. 
Write  to  me  again.  I am  not  a man  of  many  compli- 
ments, and  you  need  not  be  to  me  a man  of  many 
excuses ; for  who  am  I,  and  who  are  you,  if  we  both 
are  in  earnest,  but  mortal  souls  too  weak  to  dispense 
with  any  help,  any  love  which  can  lighten  for  us  the 
burden  of  life’s  stormy  and  dark  road?” 


377 


On  Bigots 

to , ESQ. 

Bideford,  May , 1855.  — “I  was  pained  enough  at 
the  receipt  of  your  letter  this  morning ; but  I can  only 
entreat  you  not  to  despair  where  there  is  no  need  to  do 
so.  And  as  for  the  ‘ sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost,’  let 
neither  man  nor  devil  torment  you  with  that  old  worn- 
out  lie,  and  slander  of  God’s  eternal  love  and  long- 
suffering.  In  the  first  place,  all  sins  whatsoever  are  sins 
against  the  Holy  Spirit,  whether  conscious  or  uncon- 
scious ; but  who  is  mad  enough  to  say  that  therefore 
they  are  without  forgiveness?  But  the  passage  which 
seems  to  torment  you,  and  has  tormented  many,  has 
(if  you  will  read  it  carefully)  a special  meaning  on  the 
very  face  of  it.  Our  Lord  says,  when  the  Pharisees 
said  that  He  cast  out  devils  by  Beelzebub,  that  they 
were  committing  an  utterly  unpardonable  sin  — blas- 
pheming (i.e.  speaking  evil  of)  the  Holy  Spirit ; that 
is,  they  were  attributing  good  and  god-like  deeds,  be- 
cause merciful  and  beneficent  deeds,  to  an  evil  princi- 
ple, instead  of  recognizing  in  them  the  sure  mark  of  a 
Divine  principle.  In  plain  English,  they  were  bigots . 
This  was  their  sin.  And  it  is  one  which  one  often 
enough  sees  (shuddering)  committed,  or  something 
fearfully  like  it,  now-a-days  in  our  religious  wars  and 
hatred ; but  what  has  that  to  do  with  these  struggles 
between  your  flesh  and  God’s  spirit,  while  your  own 
spirit  (as  every  line  of  your  letter  shows)  is  arrayed  on 
the  side  of  God’s  spirit  against  your  flesh,  and  will 
therefore  most  assuredly  conquer  in  the  end?  Besides, 
see  why  this  sin  of  the  Pharisees  is  unpardonable.  Be- 
cause they  cannot  repent  of  it.  If  they  could  repent 
they  would  be  forgiven  ipso  facto . To  that  primary 
eternal  moral  law  God  has  sworn  again  and  again  in  the 
Bible,  and  nothing  whatsoever  can  countervail  it.  But 
the  bigot  (I  mean,  of  course,  the  complete  one)  cannot 


378  Charles  Kingsley 

repent,  simply  because  he  thinks  himself  right,  even 
though  he  make  out  God  wrong ; himself  true,  though 
God  be  a liar ; and  his  insane  self-satisfaction  forms  an 
eternal  bar  to  any  metanoia , or  change  of  mind.  More- 
over, to  repent  is  to  turn  from  sin,  to  God ; and  how 
can  he,  who  says  he  has  no  sin,  and  who  has  forgotten 
where  God  is,  and  what  God  is,  that  He  is  mercy  and 
love,  and  His  Spirit  the  spirit  whose  mercy  is  over  all 
His  works?  Thus  the  bigot’s  moral  sense  is  gone  and 
dead,  or  rather  inverted , and  he  says  to  himself,  more 
or  less,  ‘ Evil  be  thou  my  good.’  And  such  a state  of 
mind  must  breed  fresh  sins,  misery  and  ruin  to  all  time 
and  eternity,  as  long  as  it  lasts.  That  is  the  meaning  of 
the  matter ; but  what  in  heaven  or  earth  has  it  to  do 
with  you,  and  your  sins,  though  they  be  red  as  blood? 
The  other  passages  in  Hebrews  about  ‘ impossible  to 
renew  them  to  repentance,’  should  not  trouble  you 
either.  Neither  vi.  4,  and  sqq.,  nor  xii.  16-17.  They 
are  both  distinct  warnings  addressed  to  the  Jews  of  that 
day,  that  if  they  did  fall  back  from  the  Christian  de- 
velopment of  their  national  covenant  and  life,  into  their 
old  Jewish  superstition  and  brutal  worldliness,  they 
would  perish  with  their  nation ; that  a great  historic 
crisis,  a one  last  opportunity  for  the  Jewish  nation,  was 
at  hand,  and  if  they  lost  that,  the  destruction  was  hope- 
less. As  the  event  proved,  the  city  and  religion  being 
destroyed  by  Titus,  and  the  Jews  remaining  spiritually 
dead  to  this  day. 

“ Remark,  too,  that  Esau,  the  very  man  who  ‘ found 
no  place  for  repentance,’  was  not  damned ; but  blessed 
in  his  own  way,  and  in  the  way  which  was  best  for  him, 
as  a lower-natured  man,  and  given  the  ‘ fatness  of 
the  earth,  and  the  dew  of  heaven,’  and  a warrior- 
kingdom  ! 

“ So  much  for  the  plain  fact  of  texts  which  the  devil 
and  his  best  emissaries,  bigots  who  make  a God  in  their 


Drawing  Class  for  Mechanics  379 

own  image,  dark,  cruel,  and  capricious,  use  to  torment 
poor  souls,  and  frighten  them  from  arising  and  going  to 
their  Father,  and  saying,  ‘ Father,  I hate  myself ; but 
Thou  lovest  me.  I do  not  understand  myself;  but 
Thou  dost,  and  wilt  be  merciful  to  the  work  of  Thine 
own  hands.  I cannot  guide  and  help  myself,  but  Thou 
canst,  and  wilt,  too,  because  Thou  art  my  Father,  and 
nothing  can  part  me  from  Thy  love,  or  from  the  love 
of  Thy  Son,  my  King,  as  often  as  I come  and  claim  my 
share  in  Thee,  just  because  I have  nothing,  and  can 
bring  Thee  nothing,  but  lie  at  Thy  gate  as  a beggar 
full  of  sores,  desiring  to  be  fed  with  the  crumbs  from 
Thy  table.  And  if  I would  feed  and  nurse  in  such  a 
case,  not  my  own  child  merely,  but  the  Russian  who 
might  shoot  him  in  battle,  how  much  more  wilt  Thou, 
whose  name  is  Love,  and  whose  glory  is  the  likeness  of 
Thy  Son  Jesus  Christ,  who  said,  “Come  to  me,  ALL  ye 
that  are  weary  and  heavy  laden,  and  I will  give  you 
rest.”  ’ If  ye,  being  evil,  know  how  to  give  good  gifts 
to  your  children,  how  much  more  shall  your  Heavenly 
Father  give  His  Holy  Spirit  to  them  that  ask  Him?” 

Having  no  parish  work  at  Bideford,  except  dur- 
ing an  outburst  of  cholera,  when  he  took  a district 
for  house-to-house  visitation  ; and  occasional  duty 
at  Northam,  Hartland,  and  Abbotsham;  he  lec- 
tured on  the  Fine  Arts,  and  got  up  a drawing- 
class  for  young  men,  which  one  of  the  members, 
Mr.  Plucknett,  of  Warwick,  thus  recalls: 

“ I was  a youth  in  Bideford  at  the  time  Mr.  Kingsley 
came  to  reside  there,  when  seeing  the  young  men  of 
the  town  hanging  about  wasting  their  leisure  hours  in 
worse  than  wasting,  his  heart  yearned  to  do  them  good. 
He  at  first  endeavored  to  establish  a Government  School 
of  Art  — this,  however,  failed.  He  then  offered  to  teach 


380  Charles  Kingsley 

a class  drawing  — gratuitously.  A few  of  us  held  a 
meeting,  and  hired  a room  in  the  house  of  the  Poet 
Postman,  Edward  Capern,  who,  although  a married  man, 
much  older  than  the  rest  of  us,  was  a most  hard-working 
pupil.  I look  back  upon  those  evenings  at  Bideford  as 
the  pleasantest  part  of  my  life,  and,  with  God’s  blessing, 

I attribute  my  success  in  life  to  the  valuable  instruction 
I received  from  Mr.  Kingsley : his  patience,  persever- 
ance, and  kindness  won  all  our  hearts,  and  not  one  of 
his  class  but  would  have  given  his  life  for  the  master. 
He  used  to  bring  fresh  flowers  from  his  conservatory  for 
us  to  copy  as  we  became  sufficiently  advanced  to  do  so ; 
and  still  further  on  he  gave  us  lectures  on  anatomy,  illus- 
trating the  subject  with  chalk  drawings  on  a large  black- 
board. His  knowledge  of  geometry,  perspective,  and 
free-hand  drawing,  was  wonderful;  and  the  rapid  and 
beautiful  manner  in  which  he  drew  excited  both  our  admi- 
ration and  our  ambition.  I have  reason  to  believe  that 
most  of  the  class  received  lasting  benefit,  and  have  turned 
out  well.  Personally,  I may  say,  with  truth,  I have  cause 
to  bless  the  name  of  Mr.  Kingsley  as  long  as  I live  ; for 
I left  home  with  little  more  than  the  knowledge  of  my 
business,  and  the  knowledge  of  drawing  learned  in  the 
class.  After  many  years  of  hard  work  I am  now  at  the 
head  of  a good  business,  which  I am  proud  to  say  is  well 
known  for  the  production  of  art  furniture,  &c.  . . . 

“ Though  dead,  he  yet  influences  for  good  thousands 
of  hearts  and  minds,  and  he  is  now  reaping  the  reward 
of  his  noble  efforts  while  on  earth  to  add  to  the  sum  of 
human  happiness,  and  thus  leave  the  world  better  than 
he  found  it.  . . .” 

The  mention  of  the  “ blackboard  ” will  remind 
many  of  his  masterly  sketches,  in  public  lectures 
and  at  his  own  school,  where  he  liked  always  to 
have  a blackboard,  with  a piece  of  chalk,  to  illus- 


“Rufus  bucking,  April  iS,  1855'’ 


Reproduced  from  the  original  sketch  by  Charles  Kingsley. 


Charles  Kingsley 


a das  d ^::g-'gr:rui....«:v.  A few  of  .•  held  a 
mt.-.-.-ig,  ,,i  red  a r \) m in  the  house  of  th  Poet 

" - ■’!!>.<, -iJi  a m2>r>\.d 

* 

notes'  pa  : of  my  life,  and,  with  God  • , jn* 

1 lbute  “y  s,:*  e-s  m life  to  the  valuable  instruct  m 

f?  «***>»  " :ld  have  given  his  life  for  the-  master. 

■ 

K 'v;J  heoarae  « -iently  advanced  to  do  so 
■niigtirA  Ahwfp  V'i  riotejia  Inei-ii,  sdt  rnor  bssiihoit^JI 

he  name  of  Mr.  Kingsley;  as  long  as  I live  fo- 
" leu  home  With  tittle  more  than  the  knowledge  of  mv 

j 

lead  of  a good  msiness,  which  a n proud  to  say  is 
• own  u r f.  j production  of  k,  furniture,  Mb. 

. 

: cl  he  no  v r ;«-k  : 


O'C  ei; 


hum  i n ha  ? • 


id  ll  t leave  the 


* of 
1 h&n 


The  men?  i n 
mam:  of  h ■ a:  . * 
k-  : ’ is  . 
have  % Ida  : , 


^ remind 
lectures 
1 always  to 
to  illus* 


UR 

OF 


UNIVERSITY  of  ILLINOIS 


/ 


Leaves  Devonshire  381 

trate  his  teaching  by  figures,  which  spoke  some- 
times as  eloquently  as  his  words.  His  sense  of 
form  was  marvellous,  and,  when  at  home,  he  was 
never  so  thoroughly  at  ease  as  with  a pen  or  pen- 
cil in  his  hand.  In  conversation  with  his  chil- 
dren or  guests  his  pencil  was  out  in  a moment  to 
illustrate  every  subject,  whether  it  was  natural 
history,  geological  strata,  geography,  maps,  or  the 
varieties  of  race.  And  even  when  writing  his 
sermons  his  mind  seemed  to  find  relief  in  sketch- 
ing on  the  blotting  paper  before  him,  or  on  the 
blank  spaces  in  the  sermon  book,  characteristic 
heads,  and  types  of  face,  among  the  different 
schools  of  thought  from  the  mediaeval  monk  to  the 
modern  fanatic.  He  was  always  “thinking  in 
figures,,,  to  use  his  own  words.  “A  single  pro- 
file, even  a mere  mathematical  figure,  would  in 
his  hands  become  the  illustration  of  a spiritual 
truth  ” (“  Yeast  ”).  At  Bristol,  when  he  was  presi- 
dent of  the  educational  section  at  the  Social 
Science  congress,  as  he  sat  listening  to  the 
various  speakers,  pen  in  hand,  apparently  making 
notes,  he  covered  the  paper  with  sketches  sug- 
gested by  the  audience  before  him  or  by  his 
own  fancy;  and  when  the  room  was  cleared, 
unknown  to  him,  people  would  return,  and  beg  to 
carry  off  every  scrap  of  paper  he  had  used,  as 
mementos. 

In  the  end  of  May  he  left  Devonshire  and  went 
up  to  London,  before  settling  at  Eversley.  He 
there  gave  a lecture  at  the  Working  Men’s  Col- 
lege, and  one  of  a series  to  ladies  interested  in  the 
cause  of  the  laboring  classes  on  “The  work  of 
ladies  in  the  country  parish,”  from  which  a few 
extracts  are  given : 


382  Charles  Kingsley 

“ . . . I keep  to  my  own  key-note,  — I say,  Visit 
whom,  when,  and  where  you  will ; but  let  your  visits  be 
those  of  women  to  women . Consider  to  whbm  you  go  — 
to  poor  souls  whose  life,  compared  with  yours,  is  one 
long  malaise  of  body,  and  soul,  and  spirit  — and  do  as 
you  would  be  done  by ; instead  of  reproving  and  fault- 
finding, encourage.  In  God’s  name,  encourage.  They 
scramble  through  life’s  rocks,  bogs,  and  thorn  brakes, 
clumsily  enough,  and  have  many  a fall,  poor  things  ! 
But  why,  in  the  name  of  a God  of  love  and  justice,  is 
the  lady,  rolling  along  the  smooth  turnpike  road  in  her 
comfortable  carriage,  to  be  calling  out  all  day  long  to  the 
poor  soul  who  drags  on  beside  her,  over  hedge  and  ditch, 
moss  and  moor,  barefooted  and  weary  hearted,  with  half 
a dozen  children  at  her  back  — ‘ You  ought  not  to  have 
fallen  here  ; and  it  was  very  cowardly  to  lie  down  there  ; 
and  it  was  your  duty  as  a mother  to  have  helped  that 
child  through  the  puddle ; while  as  for  sleeping  under 
that  bush,  it  is  most  imprudent  and  inadmissible?’ 
Why  not  encourage  her,  praise  her,  cheer  her  on  her 
weary  way  by  loving  words,  and  keep  your  reproofs  for 
yourself  — even  your  advice  ? for  she  does  get  on  her 
way  after  all,  where  you  could  not  travel  a step  forward ; 
and  she  knows  what  she  is  about  perhaps  better  than 
you  do,  and  what  she  has  to  endure,  and  what  God 
thinks  of  her  life-journey.  The  heart  knoweth  its  own 
bitterness,  and  a stranger  intermeddleth  not  with  its  joy. 
But  do  not  you  be  a stranger  to  her.  Be  a sister  to  her. 

I do  not  ask  you  to  take  her  up  in  your  carriage.  You 
cannot ; perhaps  it  is  good  for  her  that  you  cannot,  . . . 
All  I ask  is,  do  to  the  poor  soul  as  you  would  have  her  do 
to  you  in  her  place.  Do  not  interrupt  and  vex  her  (for  she 
is  busy  enough  already)  with  remedies  which  she  does 
not  understand,  for  troubles  which  you  do  not  under- 
stand. But  speak  comfortably  to  her,  and  say,  ‘ I can- 
not feel  with  you,  but  I do  feel  for  you  : I should  enjoy 


Lecture  to  Ladies  383 

helping  you  — but  I do  not  know  how  — tell  me.  Tell 
me  where  the  yoke  galls ; tell  me  why  that  forehead  is 
grown  old  before  its  time  : I may  be  able  to  ease  the 
burden,  and  put  fresh  light  into  the  eyes ; and  if  not, 
still  tell  me,  simply  because  I am  a woman,  and  know 
the  relief  of  pouring  out  my  own  soul  into  loving  ears, 
even  though  in  the  depths  of  despair/  Yes,  paradoxi- 
cal as  it  may  seem,  I am  convinced  that  the  only  way  to 
help  these  poor  women  humanely  and  really,  is  to  begin 
by  confessing  to  them  that  you  do  not  know  how  to  help 
them ; to  humble  yourself  to  them,  and  to  ask  their 
counsel  for  the  good  of  themselves  and  of  their  neigh- 
bors, instead  of  coming  proudly  to  them,  with  nostrums, 
ready  compounded,  as  if  a doctor  should  be  so  confi- 
dent in  his  own  knowledge  of  books  and  medicine  as  to 
give  physic  before  asking  the  patient's  symptoms. 

“ I entreat  you  to  bear  in  mind  (for  without  this  all 
visiting  of  the  poor  will  be  utterly  void  and  useless)  that 
you  must  regulate  your  conduct  to  them  and  in  their 
houses,  even  to  the  most  minute  particulars,  by  the  very 
same  rules  which  apply  to  persons  of  your  own  class.  . . . 
Piety,  earnestness,  affectionateness,  eloquence  — all  may 
be  nullified  and  stultified  by  simply  keeping  a poor 
woman  standing  in  her  own  cottage  while  you  sit,  or 
entering  her  house,  even  at  her  own  request,  while  she 
is  at  meals.  She  may  decline  to  sit ; she  may  beg  you 
to  come  in : all  the  more  reason  for  refusing  utterly  to 
obey  her,  because  it  shows  that  that  very  inward  gulf 
between  you  and  her  still  exists  in  her  mind,  which  it  is 
the  object  of  your  visit  to  bridge  over.  If  you  know  her 
to  be  in  trouble,  touch  on  that  trouble  as  you  would  with 
a lady.  Woman’s  heart  is  alike  in  all  ranks,  and  the 
deepest  sorrow  is  the  one  of  which  she  speaks  the  last 
and  least.  We  should  not  like  anyone  — no,  not  an  angel 
from  heaven,  to  come  into  our  houses  without  knocking 


384  Charles  Kingsley 

at  the  door,  to  say,  1 1 hear  you  are  very  ill  off  — I will 
lend  you  a hundred  pounds.  I think  you  are  very  care- 
less of  money,  I will  take  your  accounts  into  my  own 
hands/  And  still  less  again,  ‘ Your  son  is  a very  bad, 
profligate,  disgraceful  fellow,  who  is  not  fit  to  be  men- 
tioned; I intend  to  take  him  out  of  your  hands  and 
reform  him  myself/  . . . 

“ Approach,  then,  these  poor  women  as  sisters  — learn 
lovingly  and  patiently  (aye,  and  reverently,  for  there  is 
that  in  every  human  being  which  deserves  reverence, 
and  must  be  reverenced  if  we  wish  to  understand  it) ; 
learn,  I say,  to  understand  their  troubles,  and  by  that 
time  they  will  have  learnt  to  understand  your  remedies. 
For  you  have  remedies.  I do  not  undervalue  your  posi- 
tion. No  man  on  earth  is  less  inclined  to  undervalue 
the  real  power  of  wealth,  rank,  accomplishments, 
manners  — even  physical  beauty.  All  are  talents  from 
God,  and  I give  God  thanks  when  I see  them  possessed 
by  any  human  being ; for  I know  that  they  too  can  be 
used  in  His  service,  and  brought  to  bear  on  the  true 
emancipation  of  woman  — her  emancipation  not  from 
man  (as  some  foolish  persons  fancy),  but  from  the  devil, 
‘ the  slanderer  and  divider/  who  divides  her  from  man, 
and  makes  her  life  a life-long  tragedy,  — a vie  a part , a 
vie  incomprise  — a life  made  up  half  of  ill-usage,  half  of 
unnecessary  self-willed  martyrdom,  instead  of  being,  as 
God  intended  half  of  the  human  universe,  a helpmeet 
for  man,  and  the  one  bright  spot  which  makes  this 
world  endurable.  Towards  making  her  that,  and  so 
realizing  the  primeval  mission  by  every  cottage  hearth, 
each  of  you  can  do  something ; for  each  of  you  have 
some  talent,  power,  knowledge,  attraction  between  soul 
and  soul,  which  the  cottage/s  wife  has  not,  and  by 
which  you  may  draw  her  to  you,  by  human  bonds  and 
the  cords  of  love;  but  she  must  be  drawn  by  them 


Lecture  to  Ladies 


385 

alone,  or  your  work  is  nothing,  and  though  you  give  the 
treasures  of  Ind,  they  are  valueless  equally  to  her  and  to 
Christ ; for  they  are  not  given  in  His  name,  which  is 
that  boundless  tenderness,  consideration,  patience,  self- 
sacrifice,  by  which  even  the  cup  of  cold  water  is  a 
precious  offering  — as  God  grant  your  labor  may  be  ! ” 

“ Again,  there  is  one  thing  in  school  work  which  I 
wish  to  press  on  you.  And  that  is,  that  you  should  not 
confine  your  work  to  the  girls ; but  bestow  it  as  freely 
on  those  who  need  it  more,  and  who  (paradoxical  as  it 
may  be)  will  respond  to  it  more  deeply  and  freely  — the 
boys . I am  not  going  to  enter  into  the  reason  why.  I 
only  intreat  you  to  believe  me,  that  by  helping  to 
educate  the  boys,  or  even  by  taking  a class,  as  I have  seen 
done  with  admirable  effect,  of  grown-up  lads,  you  may 
influence  for  ever,  not  only  the  happiness  of  your  pupils, 
but  of  the  girls  whom  they  will  hereafter  marry.  It  will 
be  a boon  to  your  own  sex,  as  well  as  to  ours,  to  teach 
them  courtesy,  self-restraint,  reverence  for  physical 
weakness,  admiration  of  tenderness  and  gentleness,  and 
it  is  one  which  only  a lady  can  bestow.  Only  by  being 
accustomed  in  youth  to  converse  with  ladies  will  the  boy 
learn  to  treat  hereafter  his  sweetheart  or  his  wife  like  a 
gentleman.  There  is  a latent  chivalry,  doubt  it  not,  in 
the  heart  of  every  untutored  clod ; if  it  dies  out  in  him, 
as  it  too  often  does,  it  were  better  for  him,  I often  think, 
that  he  had  never  been  born ; but  the  only  talisman 
which  will  keep  it  alive,  much  more  develop  it  into  its 
fulness,  is  friendly  and  revering  intercourse  with  women 
of  higher  rank  than  himself,  between  whom  and  him  there 
is  a great  and  yet  blessed  gulf  fixed.  . . (Practical 
Lectures  to  Ladies.) 

“Tell  these  lads  and  men,”  he  wrote  to  one  who  con- 
sulted him  about  ragged-school  work,  “ that  they  have  a 
Father  in  heaven  — show  that  you  believe  it,  by  your 

VOL.  I.  — 25 


386  Charles  Kingsley 

looks,  your  manner,  and  common  geniality^  and  brotherly 
kindness,  and  general  hopefulness  of  tone ; and  let  them 
draw  their  own  conclusions.  God  their  Father  will  take 
good  care  that  the  good  seed  shall  grow.” 

To  his  Wife:  July  16.  — “ . . . After  all,  the  prob- 
lem of  life  is  not  a difficult  one,  for  it  solves  itself  so 
very  soon  at  best  — by  death.  Do  what  is  right  the 
best  way  you  can,  and  wait  to  the  end  to  know . Only 
we  priests  confuse  it  with  our  formulae,  and  bind  heavy 
burdens.  How  many  have  I bound  in  my  time,  God 
forgive  me  ! But  for  that,  too,  I shall  receive  my  pun- 
ishment, which  is  to  me  the  most  comforting  of  thoughts. 
. . . Yes  : 

4 ’T  is  life,  whereof  our  nerves  are  scant, 

Oh  life,  not  death  for  which  we  pant, 

More  life,  and  fuller,  that  I want.* 

You  are  right  — that  longing  to  get  rid  of  walls  and 
roofs  and  all  the  chrysalis  case  of  humanity  is  the  earnest 
of  a higher,  richer  state  of  existence.  That  instinct 
which  the  very  child  has  to  get  rid  of  clothes,  and  cuddle 
to  flesh  — what  is  it  but  the  longing  for  fuller  union  with 
those  it  loves?  But  see  again  (I  always  take  the  bright 
side),  — If  in  spite  of  wars  and  fevers,  and  accidents, 
and  the  strokes  of  chance,  this  world  be  as  rich  and  fair 
and  green  as  we  have  found  it,  what  must  the  coming 
world  be  like  ? Let  us  comfort  ourselves  as  St.  Paul  did 
(in  infinitely  worse  times),  that  the  sufferings  of  this 
present  time  are  not  worthy  to  be  compared  with  the 
glory  that  shall  be  revealed.  It  is  not  fair  either  to  St. 
Paul  or  to  God  — to  quote  the  one  text  about  the  crea- 
tion groaning  and  travailing,  without  the  other,  which 
says,  that  it  will  not  groan  or  travail  long.  Would  the 
mother  who  has  groaned  and  travailed  and  brought  forth 
children  — would  she  give  up  those  children  for  the  sake 
of  not  having  had  the  pain?  No.  Then  believe  that 


On  Being  an  Artist  387 

the  world  and  every  human  being  in  it  who  has  really 
groaned  and  travailed,  will  not  give  up  its  past  pangs  for 
the  sake  of  its  then  present  perfection,  but  will  look  back 
on  this  life,  as  you  do  on  past  pain,  with  glory  and  joy. 
Oh  ! let  the  Bible  tell  its  own  tale,  and  be  faithful  to  its 
plain  words,  honestly  and  carefully  understood,  and  all 
will  be  well.  I come  to-morrow,  . . . and  I shall  see 
my  darling  children.” 

To  Rev.  F.  D.  Maurice.  Eversley:  August  6. — 

“ Many,  many  thanks,  my  dear  Master,  for  your  letter. 
You  need  never  fear  lecturing  me,  as  long  as  I want  it 
as  much  as  I do  now.  Your  fears  for  me  are  most  just, 
and  if  you  knew  half  as  much  of  me  as  I do  of  myself, 
you  would  have  hundreds  of  fears  more.  ...  A period 
of  collapse  has  come  to  me.  . . . Only  do  not  fear  that  V 
ultimately  I shall  be  content  with  being  ‘ an  artist.’  I 
despise  and  loathe  the  notion  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart.  I have  felt  its  temptation ; but  I will,  by  God’s 
help,  fight  against  that.  Indeed,  if  I write  another 
novel,  one  of  my  principal  characters  is  to  be  a man 
who  wants  to  be  an  ‘ artist,’  like  old  Goethe  (of  whom  I 
think  less,  if  not  worse,  the  longer  I live),  and  finds  that 
he  becomes,  ‘ artist  ’ or  none,  a very  confused  fellow, 
going  rapidly  to  hell.  No.  I am  going  to  settle  quietly 
here  again,  and  write  my  sermons,  and  books  for  my 
children,  and  leave  fame  to  take  care  of  itself,  and  thank 
God  every  day  of  my  life  for  this  paralytic  os  hyoides 
of  mine,  which  has  kept  me  low,  and  makes  me  refrain 
my  tongue  and  my  soul  too,  whenever  I try  to  be  witty 
or  eloquent,  under  the  penalty  of  stuttering  dumbness. 
The  mere  fact  of  my  stammering  (if  you  knew  behind 
the  scenes  of  my  character  and  life)  would  be  proof 
enough  that  I have  a Father  in  Heaven. 

“No;  my  [temptation]  lies  in  a somewhat  different 
direction  from  what  you  fancy.  ...  Of  course  I am 


388  Charles  Kingsley 

ready  to  worship  Nature  all  day  long,  and  in  the  merest 
anacreontic  Tommy-Moore  style  too,  to  lie  among  the 
roses  and  sing  . . . that  is  more  to  my  taste  than  any 
gnostic  or  Vestiges-of-Creation  nature-worship,  or  even 
than  the  scientific  bug-hunting  which  I recommend  to 
idlers  who  can’t  or  won’t  go  and  die  like  men  or  dogs 
before  Sebastopol.  I am  losing  a zest  for  work.  Every- 
thing seems  to  me  not  worth  working  at,  except  the 
simple  business  of  telling  poor  people,  ‘ Don’t  fret,  God 
cares  for  you,  and  Christ  understands  you.’  ...  I can- 
not escape  that  wretched  fear  of  a national  catastrophe. 
...  I live  in  dark,  nameless  dissatisfaction  and  dread, 
which  has  certainly  not  diminished  during  the  last  few 
months.  ...  My  dear  Master,  terrible  and  sad  thoughts 
haunt  me  — thoughts  which  I long  to  put  away,  which  I 
do  and  will  put  away  in  simple  silent  home-work.  Per- 
haps I may  so  concentrate  my  power  as  to  be  able  to  do 
the  Lord’s  work  thoroughly  when  the  Day  comes ; and  if 

not why  it  will  be  done  upon  me,  if  not  by  me  ; for 

done  it  will  be.  But,  meanwhile,  comfort  yourself  on  one 
point  — that  I am  humbled;  . . . and  have  had  a 
peep  or  two  down  through  the  sea  of  glass  (thanks  for 
ever  for  that  most  true  interpretation),  and  seen  the 
nether  fire  within  half  an  inch  of  my  feet.  . . . Tell  me 
what  is  wrong  in  that  Raleigh  Article,1  and  I will  correct 
it.  I tried  to  be  honest,  and  read  up  all  the  authorities  : 
but  my  failure  is  a fresh  proof  that  I am  even  as  an  ass 
that  eateth  thistles.  Yet  the  four-legged  ass  digests  his 
thistles ; which  is  more,  I am  sure,  than  I do.  ^ 

“ Yours  ever  loving,  C.  K.” 

They  were  now  at  Eversley ; but  as  winter  ap- 
proached, the  damp  obliged  him  to  leave  the 
rectory  again;  though  not  his  people,  to  his  and 
their  great  joy;  and  settle  at  Farley  Court,  Swal- 

1 Life  and  Times  of  Raleigh,  Miscellanies. 


“ The  Heroes  ” 


389 

iowfield,  a high  and  dry  spot  adjoining  his  parish. 
In  the  intervals  of  parish  work  and  lectures  at 
many  diocesan  institutes,  he  brought  out  a volume 
of  “Sermons  for  the  Times,”1  and  wrote  “The 
Heroes,”  a Christmas  book  of  Greek  fairy  tales, 
dedicated  to  his  children,  Rose,  Maurice,  and 
Mary,  to  whom  he  says : 

“ I love  these  old  Hellenes  heartily,  and  should  be 
very  ungrateful  if  I did  not,  considering  all  they  have 
taught  me.  They  seem  to  me  like  brothers,  though 
they  have  all  been  dead  and  gone  many  hundred  years, 
so  I wish  to  be  the  first  to  introduce  you  to  them,  and 
to  say,  ‘ Come  hither,  children,  at  this  blessed  Christmas 
time,  when  all  God’s  creatures  should  rejoice  together, 
and  bless  Him  who  redeemed  them.  Come  and  see 
old  friends  of  mine,  whom  I knew  long  ere  you  were 
born.  They  are  come  to  visit  us  at  Christmas,  out  of 
the  world  where  all  live  to  God ; and  to  tell  you  some 
of  their  old  fairy  tales  which  they  loved  when  they 
were  young,  like  you.’  . . . Next  to  the  old  romances 
which  were  written  in  the  Christian  middle  age,  there 
are  no  fairy  tales  like  these  old  Greek  ones  for  beauty, 
wisdom,  and  truth,  and  for  making  children  love  noble 
deeds,  and  trust  in  God  to  help  them  through.  . . 

To  J.  M.  Ludlow,  Esq.  Farley  Court  : Dec . — “ 

I feel  what  you  say  about  not  Greek  and  too  Greek ; 
but  I had  laid  my  account  with  all  that  before  I wrote. 
If  I tell  the  story  myself  as  you  wish,  I can't  give  the 
children  the  Greek  spirit  — either  morally  or  in  manner, 
therefore  I have  adopted  a sort  of  simple  ballad  tone,  and 
tried  to  make  my  prose  as  metrical  as  possible.  . . . 

1 Of  these  sermons  a stranger  wrote  to  him  from  Cambridge  to 
tell  him  the  blessing  they  had  been  to  many,  and  how  the  sermon 
on  “ Salvation  ” had  saved  one  man  from  suicide. 


39°  Charles  Kingsley 

You  must  remember  as  to  modernisms,  that  we  Cam- 
bridge men  are  taught  to  translate  Greek  by  its  modern 
equivalent  even  to  slang . My  own  belief  is,  that  by  tak- 
ing the  form  I have,  I shall  best  do  what  I want,  trans- 
late the  children  back  into  a new  old  world,  and  make 
them,  as  long  as  they  are  reading,  forget  the  present, 
which  is  the  true  method  of  a — musement,  while  the 
half  metrical  form  will  fix  it  in  their  minds,  and  give 
them  something  to  think  over.  I don't  agree  with  you 
at  all,  nor  does  F.,  about  omitting  allusions  which  the 
children  can't  understand.  She  agrees  with  me  that 
that  is  just  what  they  like." 

To  J.  M.  L.,  Esq.  — “ And  for  this  Fame,  &c.  I 
know  a little  of  her  worth.  And  I will  tell  you  what  I 
know.  That,  in  the  first  place,  she  is  a fact ; and  as 
such,  it  is  not  wise  to  ignore  her,  but  at  least  to  walk 
once  round  her,  and  see  her  back  as  well  as  her  front. 

“The  case  to  me  seems  to  be  this.  A man  feels  in 
himself  the  love  of  praise.  Every  man  does  who  is  not 
a brute.  It  is  a universal  human  faculty ; Carlyle  nick- 
names it  the  sixth  sense.  Who  made  it?  God  or  the 
devil?  Is  it  flesh  or  spirit?  A difficult  question;  be- 
cause tamed  animals  grow  to  possess  it  in  a high  degree  ; 
and  our  metaphysic  does  not  yet  allow  them  spirit. 
But,  whichever  it  be,  it  cannot  be  for  bad : only  bad 
when  misdirected,  and  not  controlled  by  reason,  the 
faculty  which  judges  between  good  and  evil.  Else  why 
has  God  put  His  love  of  praise  into  the  heart  of  every 
child  which  is  born  into  the  world,  and  entwined  it  into 
the  holiest  filial  and  family  affections,  as  the  earliest 
mainspring  of  good  actions?  Has  God  appointed  that 
every  child  shall  be  fed  first  with  a necessary  lie,  and 
afterwards  come  to  the  knowledge  of  your  supposed 
truth,  that  the  praise  of  God  alone  is  to  be  sought  ? Or 
are  we  to  believe  that  the  child  is  intended  to  be  taught 


On  Fame  391 

as  delicately  and  gradually  as  possible  the  painful  fact, 
that  the  praise  of  all  men  is  not  equally  worth  having, 
and  to  use  his  critical  faculty  to  discern  the  praise  of 
good  men  from  the  praise  of  bad,  to  seek  the  former 
and  despise  the  latter?  I should  say  that  the  last  was 
the  more  reasonable.  And  this  I will  say,  that  if  you 
bring  up  any  child  to  care  nothing  for  the  praise  of  its 
parents,  its  elders,  its  pastors,  and  masters,  you  may 
make  a fanatic  of  it,  or  a shameless  cynic  : but  you  will 
neither  make  it  a man,  an  Englishman,  nor  a Christian. 

“ But  Our  Lord’s  words  stand,  about  ‘ not  seeking  the 
honor  which  comes  from  men,  but  the  honor  which 
comes  from  God  only  ! * True,  they  do  stand,  and  our 
Lord’s  fact  stands  also,  the  fact  that  He  has  created 
every  child  to  be  educated  by  an  honor  which  comes 
from  his  parents  and  elders.  Both  are  true.  Here,  as  in 
most  spiritual  things,  you  have  an  antinomia,  an  appar- 
ent contradiction,  which  nothing  but  the  Gospel  solves. 
And  it  does  solve  it ; and  your  one-sided  view  of  the 
text  resolves  itself  into  just  the  same  fallacy  as  the  old 
ascetic  one  — ‘We  must  love  God  alone,  therefore  we 
must  love  no  created  thing.’  To  which  St.  John 
answers  pertinently,  1 He  who  loveth  not  his  brother 
whom  he  hath  seen  how  can  he  love  God  whom  he  hath 
not  seen?’  If  you  love  your  brethren,  you  love  Christ 
in  them.  If  you  love  their  praise,  you  love  the  praise 
of  Christ  in  them.  For  consider  this,  you  cannot  deny 
that  if  one  loves  any  person,  one  desires  that  person’s 
esteem.  But  we  are  bound  to  love  all  men,  and  that  is 
our  highest  state.  Therefore,  in  our  highest  state,  we 
shall  desire  all  men’s  esteem.  Paradoxical,  but  true. 
If  we  believe  in  Christmas-day,  if  we  believe  in  Whit- 
sunday, we  shall  believe  that  Christ  is  in  all  men,  that 
God’s  spirit  is  abroad  in  the  earth,  and  therefore  the 
dispraise,  misunderstanding,  and  calumny  of  men  will 
be  exquisitely  painful  to  us,  and  ought  to  be  so ; and, 


392  Charles  Kingsley 

on  the  other  hand,  the  esteem  of  men,  and  renown 
among  men  for  doing  good  deeds,  will  be  inexpressibly 
precious  to  us.  They  will  be  signs  and  warrants  to  us 
that  God  is  pleased  with  us,  that  we  are  sharing  in  that 
‘ honor  and  glory  ’ which  Paul  promises  again  and 
again,  to  those  who  lead  heroic  lives.  We  shall  not 
neglect  the  voice  of  God  within  us ; but  we  shall  remem- 
ber that  there  is  also  a voice  of  God  without  us,  which 
we  must  listen  to ; and  that  in  a Christian  land,  vox 
populi , patiently  and  discriminate^  listened  to,  is  sure 
to  be  found  not  far  off  from  the  vox  Dei . Of  course, 
in  listening  to  the  voice  of  the  many  outside,  there  is 
a danger,  as  there  is  in  the  use  of  any  faculty.  You 
may  employ  it,  according  to  Divine  reason  and  grace, 
for  ennobling  and  righteous  purposes ; or  you  may  de- 
grade it  to  carnal  and  selfish  ones ; so  you  may  degrade 
the  love  of  praise  into  vanity,  into  longing  for  the 
honor  which  comes  from  men,  by  pandering  to  their 
passions  and  opinions,  by  using  your  powers  as  they 
would  too  often  like  to  use  theirs,  for  mere  self-aggran- 
dizement, by  saying  in  your  heart  — quant  pulchrum  digito 
monstrari  et  dicere  hie  est — ‘That  is  the  man  who 
wrote  the  fine  poem,  who  painted  the  fine  picture/  and 
so  forth,  till,  by  giving  way  to  this,  a man  may  give  way 
to  forms  of  vanity  as  base  as  the  red  Indian  who  sticks 
a fox’s  tail  on,  and  dances  about  boasting  of  his  brute 
cunning.  I know  all  about  that,  as  well  as  any  poor  son 
of  Adam  ever  did.  But  I know,  too,  that  to  desire  the 
esteem  of  as  many  rational  men  as  possible ; in  a word, 
to  desire  an  honorable  and  true  renown  for  having 
done  good  in  my  generation,  has  nothing  to  do  with 
that;  and  the  more  I fear  and  struggle  against  the 
former,  the  more  I see  the  exceeding  beauty  and  divine- 
ness, and  everlasting  glory  of  the  latter  as  an  entrance 
into  the  communion  of  saints. 

“ Of  course,  all  this  depends  on  whether  we  do  believe 


On  Fame 


393 

that  Christ  is  in  every  man,  and  that  God’s  spirit  is 
abroad  in  the  earth.  Of  course,  again,  it  will  be  very 
difficult  to  know  who  speaks  by  God’s  spirit,  and  who 
sees  by  Christ’s  light  in  him ; but  surely  the  wiser,  the 
humbler  path,  is  to  give  men  credit  for  as  much  wisdom 
and  rightness  as  possible,  and  to  believe  that  when  one 
is  found  fault  with,  one  is  probably  in  the  wrong.  For 
myself,  on  looking  back,  I see  clearly  with  shame  and 
sorrow,  that  the  obloquy  which  I have  brought  often  on 
myself  and  on  the  good  cause,  has  been  almost  all  of  it 
my  own  fault.  . . . 

“ There  has  been  gradually  revealed  to  me  (what  my 
many  readings  in  the  lives  of  fanatics  and  ascetics  ought 
to  have  taught  me  long  before),  that  there  is  a terrible 
gulf  ahead  of  that  not  caring  what  men  say.  Of  course 
it  is  a feeling  on  which  the  spirit  must  fall  back  in  hours 
of  need,  and  cry,  ‘Thou  God  knowest  mine  integrity. 
I have  believed,  and  therefore  I will  speak ; Thou  art 
true,  though  all  men  be  liars  ! ’ But  I am  convinced 
that  that  is  a frame  in  which  no  man  can  live,  or  is 
meant  to  live ; that  it  is  only  to  be  resorted  to  in  fear 
and  trembling,  after  deepest  self-examination,  and  self- 
purification,  and  earnest  prayer.  For  otherwise,  a man 
gets  to  forget  that  voice  of  God  without  him,  in  his 
determination  to  listen  to  nothing  but  the  voice  of  God 
within  him,  and  so  he  falls  into  two  dangers.  He  for- 
gets that  there  is  a voice  of  God  without  him.  He  loses 
trust  in,  and  charity  to,  and  reverence  for  his  fellow- 
men  ; he  learns  to  despise,  deny,  and  quench  the  Spirit 
. . . and  so  becomes  gradually  cynical,  sectarian, 
fanatical. 

“ And  then  comes  a second  and  worse  danger. 
Crushed  into  self,  and  his  own  conscience  and  schema 
mundi , he  loses  the  opportunity  of  correcting  his  im- 
pression of  the  voice  of  God  within,  by  the  testimony  of 
the  voice  of  God  without;  and  so  he  begins  to  mistake 


394  Charles  Kingsley 

more  and  more  the  voice  of  that  very  flesh  of  his,  which 
he  fancies  he  has  conquered,  for  the  voice  of  God,  and 
to  become,  without  knowing  it,  an  autotheist.  And  out 
of  that  springs  eclecticism,  absence  of  tenderness  for 
men,  for  want  of  sympathy  with  men ; as  he  makes  his 
own  conscience  his  standard  for  God,  so  he  makes  his 
own  character  the  standard  for  men;  and  so  he  be- 
comes narrow,  hard,  and  if  he  be  a man  of  strong  will 
and  feelings,  often  very  inhuman  and  cruel.  This  is  the 
history  of  thousands  — of  Jeromes,  Lauds,  Puritans  who 
scourged  Quakers,  Quakers  who  cursed  Puritans ; Non- 
jurors who,  though  they  would  die  rather  than  offend 
their  own  conscience  in  owning  William,  would  plot 
with  James  to  murder  William,  or  devastate  England 
with  Irish  Rapparees  and  Auvergne  dragoons.  This,  in 
fact,  is  the  spiritual  diagnosis  of  those  many  pious  per- 
secutors, who,  though  neither  hypocrites  nor  black- 
guards themselves,  have  used  both  as  instruments  of 
their  fanaticism. 

“ Against  this  I have  to  guard  myself,  you  little  know 
how  much,  and  to  guard  my  children  still  more,  brought 
up,  as  they  will  be,  under  a father,  who,  deeply  discon- 
tented with  the  present  generation,  cannot  but  express 
that  discontent  at  times.  To  make  my  children  bonau - 
soi  insolent  and  scoffing  radicals  believing  in  nobody 
and  nothing  but  themselves,  would  be  perfectly  easy  in 
me  if  I were  to  make  the  watchword  of  my  house, 
‘ Never  mind  what  people  say.’  On  the  contrary,  I shall 
teach  them  that  there  are  plenty  of  good  people  in  the 
world,  that  public  opinion  has  pretty  surely  an  under- 
current of  the  water  of  life,  below  all  its  froth  and  gar- 
bage, and  that  in  a Christian  country  like  this,  where, 
with  all  faults,  a man  (sooner  or  later)  has  fair  play  and 
a fair  hearing,  the  esteem  of  good  men,  and  the  blessings 
of  the  poor,  will  be  a pretty  sure  sign  that  they  have  the 
blessing  of  God  also ; and  I shall  tell  them,  when  they 


On  Fame 


395 

grow  older,  that  ere  they  feel  called  on  to  become  mar- 
tyrs, in  defending  the  light  within  them  against  all  the 
world,  they  must  first  have  taken  care  most  patiently, 
and  with  all  self-distrust  and  humility,  to  make  full  use 
of  the  light  which  is  around  them,  and  has  been  here 
for  ages  before  them,  and  would  be  here  still,  though 
they  had  never  been  born  or  thought  of.  The  antinomy 
between  this  and  their  own  conscience  may  be  painful 
enough  to  them  some  day.  To  what  thinking  man  is  it 
not  a life-long  battle  ? . . 


END  OF  VOL.  I 


Y 


"“tViRSlIy 


uf  ILLINOIS 


